Home Run Zou's Edition
by roomtable202
Summary: It was so exciting when Zou offered to edit the "Home Run" story! Zou's editing is so compelling that it deserves a place of its own.Don't miss the intense changes on the last chapters. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: "Home Run" Zou's Edition - Chapter 1

**Original story by**: roomtable202

**Edited by: **Zou

**Fandom**: The Unit

**Disclaimer**: This is intended as a fan fiction, on characters owned by their original creators and I am not making a profit out of it.

**Note:** It was very exciting when Zou offered to review and edit the "Home Run" story. When I received the first chapters reviewed I've found Zou's editing so compelling that I thought it deserved a place of its own. I hope you all enjoy this terrific version of the original story as much as I do and let Zou know.

* * *

Bob Brown came to awareness with a start, to nothingness, or so it seemed. He was surrounded by darkness; in utter silence. The disorientation caused a flash of panic to hit his nervous system causing adrenaline to surge through his body in a flight or fight reflex. His senses provided him no input and apart from the overwhelming panic he couldn't identify what was real and what wasn't. In fact, he wasn't even sure if his eyes were open and he was in real darkness or if he was entrenched in some nightmare manufactured by his unconscious mind from which he had yet to awaken.

"Hey! Wake up! Come on!" a voice intruded into Bob's darkness.

Then suddenly Bob was enveloped in blinding light and engulfed in unbearable pain; it consumed him like fire.

"God, no!!" he groaned out. He would have screamed but the pain had taken his breath away. Instead he tried to physically move away from the source of his torment only to be stopped short by a new wave of fire coursing through him.

"I've got you!! I've got you!! Stay still. "Again came the voice somewhere just beyond Bob's sight.

"No!!" he answered and tried once more to more away from the pain eating away at his nerve endings like acid.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Bob! Bobbo!! Look at me! Look at me!" This time the words were accompanied by hands grabbing his head and turning Bob's face toward the source of the demanding voice.

"Oh, God!!" Bob's eyes opened for a brief second then quickly closed again as the bright light caused a sharp pain to lance through his head. He took a breath and tried to orientate himself to no avail. Then responding to the insistent tapping on his cheek, he again opened his eyes. The tapping continued until Bob turned his eyes straight ahead and finally focused on the intense gaze of his teammate hovering over him.

Seeing that Bob had finally focused and appeared to be at least somewhat aware, Grey started speaking to him again. "Listen, listen, listen," repeated Carlito in a rhythmic cadence using the power of his words and their delivery in a slightly hypnotic manner. "I'm gonna check you out now . . . Be calm! Just be calm." While his face was intense he voice remained smooth and authoritative.

"No!! Don't!! Please!! Don't!!" Bob begged brokenly, not yet prepared to have the level of pain coursing through him increase, even through well-meaning and necessary medical care.

Grey would have given Bob the moment he needed to center himself, but knew that he didn't have that luxury. He tried to gently pull Bob's hands away from his already blood soaked pant leg and when that proved futile he hardened his voice and commanded, "Move your hands, Bob!" When that too failed to get the desired response he channeled Colonel Ryan and barked "Hands off!! HANDS OFF NOW SOLDIER!!"

Years of military training kicked in and Bob's conditioned response to the command caused him to immediately release the hold he had on his leg.

"What's sticking out of my leg?! Is it my bone?" Bob asked, not able to focus clearly, but having felt the splintered object near the site of the most intense pain.

"No, no . . . It's some little branch that got through. Calm down . . . It's Ok." Grey responded downplaying the severity of the injury he was seeing.

"Bad enough to shot me some morphine?"

"Not right now. It's not as bad as it seems. Just let me have a look." Grey responded, not telling Bob that morphine in his present state of shock could be fatal. "Be calm," he continued, trying to distract the injured man while he peeled away more of the jumpsuit to get a better look at the injury concealed there.

"Oohhh!! God!!" Bob yelled through gritted teeth as the pain flared even higher.

"Hold on . . . Hold on . . . Be still now!" Grey instructed, trying to determine the best way to deal with Bob's wound and staunch the bleeding.

"Oh, God!!"

"You're a lucky man, Bob . . . . Hold on! Let's do this together!!" Grey continued, wishing that he had another set of hands to help him manage Bob and his injuries.

"Stop! Please stop!! STOP!!" Bob, rasped as dark spots flashed before his eyes and his vision began to dim from the agony.

"I know! I know! Relax, relax! Listen to me . . . Calm down . . . Calm down!! Take it easy . . . Ok, Ok, Ok . . . Look at me, Bob . . . You have to calm down; control your breathing . . . I need you to hang on . . . You hang on, you hear me?" Grey stopped working on Bob for a moment and instead focused on calming his teammate and keeping him from slipping further into shock. "Bob, I need to fix this now man. You're losing too much blood and I don't happen to have any extra to lend to you. Do you understand? We have to do this now." Grey stared intently at Bob until the injured man's pain filled eyes settled on his. "Are you good to go now?" he then asked, and waited for an affirmative nod from his teammate.

Bob managed a few more minutes before he again cried out, "Stop!! Stop!! God, please stop!""

"We're almost finished . . . !! Come on . . . ! Don't fight me, man!!" Grey responded, even as he saw the fight leaving Bob and his resistance diminishing.

"Be done. Please. I can't take any more." Bob moaned, his eyes closing and his face going pale.

"It's almost over!! . . . I know it hurts like hell . . . but it's almost over, I promise. You hold on now! You'll feel better in a minute." Grey said as he focused on simply getting pressure bandages on the heavily bleeding wound on Bob's leg without dislodging the wood that had impaled it. He knew that if he simply pulled it out that the bleeding could be catastrophic. It would need to be done under more controlled conditions then he currently had. He needed Bob to be still and his condition more stable before he even considered removing the piece of wood that was deeply imbedded in his leg. For now just controlling the bleeding would have to do. The sudden silence that surrounded him made Grey look up sharply. "Bob! Bob! Don't do this to me now. Talk to me, man. Stay with me! . . . Bob!! Bob!! Come on Bob, the worst is over, it's over man" Carlito assured his teammate. "Shit!" he quietly signed under his breath, too softly for Bob to hear.

After doing all that he could to tend to Bob's most life threatening injury, and deeming that the rest would have to wait a little longer, Grey grasped Bob under the arms and pulled him into a half seated position. While he knew that he could not keep Bob upright for long because of the blood loss, Grey decided that it was worth the risk for a few minutes. He then moved swiftly behind his mate, knees bent on both sides of Bob, cradling him against his chest, trying to quiet his shivering by wrapping his arms securely around him. The idea was to both keep Bob warm and hopefully pass on to him, even in his semi-conscious state a sense of reassurance sufficient to allow him to center himself and regain some control over his senses. Grey had seen it many times in the field; if you could just give a soldier a moment to accept his new situation he could adapt to just about anything . . . even horrific pain.

Grey sat quietly supporting Bob, not sure how good a job he was doing on calming Bob's tremors as his own body vibrated slightly in the afterglow of the adrenaline rush he had just been on. Grey focused on calming his own breathing and while he waited for Bob to settle down he set about assessing their current situation and crafting a plan to get them both out of there safe and as whole as possible.

"You can lean on me now. I've got you, I've got you." He murmured to his teammate.

Despite his condition, Bob responded to Grey's words and relaxed into the comfort and safety of the embrace that was being provided to him. Teammates were the one shelter in the storm that could always be relied upon and Bob unconsciously responded to that shelter now. His eyes were closed and as he stared to calm his head began drifting forward towards his chest. But still, belying his weakened condition, he firmly gripped Grey's arms as if he was pulling strength directly from his teammate's body. Bob finally seemed to be gathered his willpower and emotional equilibrium. His ragged breathing started to steady as he synchronizing with Grey's.

Grey closed his own eyes and started speaking in a low calm tone of voice, as if to a spooked animal. "That's it Bob. Just take it easy, now. Don't fight it. Take in the pain. Breathe; breathe . . . 4-3-2-1 . . . Hold it. 1-2-3-4 . . . Again . . . 4-3-2-1 . . . Hold it. 1-2-3-4 . . . Think of Kim and Serena and Teddy . . . It was so much fun playing soccer with the kids at Serena's birthday party. Think of the party. Think of your family. . . Hey, you even scored a goal, which isn't saying much considering your competition was all six year olds."

Bob never said a word, but over the next few minutes Grey could feel him steadying, relaxing and his breathing becoming less hitched. Bob seemed to be striving for total calm, probably self-conscious about his reaction to the situation, likely believing it to have been an overreaction. Bob was all about control, Grey knew. Soon, the worst of the pain appeared to have subsided or at least to be controlled by sheer will. It was then that Grey felt Bob stiffen in his arms. Bob opened his eyes and looked down to see that he was still holding tightly onto Grey's arms and with a sudden jerking movement he pulled his hand free. He struggled to untangle himself from Grey's forceful embrace but it didn't take much effort for Grey to overpower Bob's meager efforts and keep Bob where he was.

"What? We're not dating anymore? You flushing me down the toilet now? Hey, it's OK . . . Better there than here." Grey teased as he gave a furtive glance at Bob's face seeing a slight blush on his still very pale face.

"Allow a father a little pride, huh? Someone might be googleearthing us just right now . . . " Bob replied, already giving up his efforts to twist free from Grey.

"How are you feeling, man?"

"Like shit . . . "

"You OK if I take a look over the rest of you now?"

"Suit yourself . . . " Bob replied nonchalantly, although some hesitation was still evident in his voice.

"Listen, I need you to sit tight just a few more minutes. If your vitals are more stable I'll give you that shot of morphine and put you to sleep during the worst part of patching you up. You with me?"

"It's OK. Go on. I'm fine now." Bob answered, turning his face away from Grey's, but not before Grey saw the embarrassment and resignation in his eyes.

Grey knew that this loss of control would eat away at Bob, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. He had to deal with the medical issues at hand and he'd deal with the psychological one's later, if need be. Or if he was lucky they would be picked up by then and those would be someone else's problem.

Rising from the ground, Grey passed an arm around Bob and eased him back down to the ground. He felt Bob wince at the movement and his eyes slammed shut either from pain, dizziness or both, but he didn't utter a sound. Once he was sure that Bob was as comfortable as he was going to get Grey moved down Bob's body running his hands expertly over it as he went; cataloging the injuries as he found them. In his mind he was detailing what he had to deal with and in what order, especially given their limited supplies. He also decided what would just have to wait or go untreated. He ended up kneeling again beside Bob's left leg needing to take a closer look at the most serious injury and to determine if there were others that he had not seen earlier through all the blood. . With no warning he grasped the two sides of the torn pant leg and in a swift motion tore the fabric to bare the rest of limb.

"Easy!! That hurts!!" Bob instinctively tried to shove away Grey's hands to stop the sudden stab of pain that had shot up his leg by the slight movement the tearing had caused.

"We are a bit jumpy today, aren't we? Your virtue's safe, I promise. Put your hands in your pockets and keep them there. Let me work." Grey replied calmly.

Turning his head away, Bob took a deep steadying breath. "All right", he hissed in pain. Although he grimaced at some of the manipulations and the probing, he hung tough and didn't try to stop Grey again.

"You're gonna need lots of knitting, bro . . . and maybe more. I'm not gonna lie to you, it looks pretty bad, but, we'll see to that. Just hang on." Grey started talking while he checked Bob over. "Most of the wounds are from the branches you fell through. You also hit your head on to the rocks when you landed, you have a good size lump on your head but you weren't out too long so I'll take that to mean that the chances of a serious head injury are not too high. That's good for you since it means I'll let you have some of the happy juice. You let me know if the world starts to go wonky on you or your head starts pounding too much though." Grey continued his litany. "I see one broken rib, and perhaps a few cracked or bruised ones, but I don't see any signs of internal bleeding. Thank god. But you are going to be one big bruise for a while, man. The worst of the damage seems to be concentrated on your leg. The important thing is none of these should kill you if we take care of them and . . . ?

".. and if we can get out of this hole" Bob finished. "What's the last you saw from the Team?"

"I didn't see any of them. I jumped right after you. I was focused on you." Grey replied without looking up.

"So, you don't even know if they followed or not? Hell! What were you thinking, man?!"

"HALO jump. 30,000 feet, pitch dark night? Total radio blackout, no GPS. Dude, does a grenade entangled in your parachute rigging ring a bell? It was you who jumped ahead of signal so as not to blast the whole bird. Which I'm sure everyone appreciated by the way. I just followed suit when I saw you going head down like a stone and struggling to reach your ripcord. Don't know what the others did or had time to do."

"I- . . . I don't remember" Bob muttered.

"Hey, . . . No drama . . . We were extremely lucky to get rid of that when we did. A hundred meters more of a drop and we would both be decorating quite a few of those trees by now and we are not even close to Christmas. Don't tell me you didn't have it secured . . . " Grey questioned.

"I won't, then. Look, you probably feel like punishing me some more for that, but is there anything you can do to ease this pain? I don't know how much longer I can hold out." Bob said, not meeting Grey's eyes as he once again admitted that his control was slipping.

"Gimme a minute. Let me finish and do a vitals check then I'll make you more comfortable. Once you're in la-la land I'll do all sorts of horrible things to you . . . Just think on that for a moment." Grey said in a teasing voice; however, he hadn't failed to notice that Bob had not really answered his question about whether the grenade was secured or not.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: "Home Run" Zou's Edition - Chapter 2

**Original story by**: roomtable202

**Edited by: **Zou

**Fandom**: The Unit

**Disclaimer**: This is intended as a fan fiction, on characters owned by their original creators and I am not making a profit out of it.

**Note:** It was very exciting when Zou offered to review and edit the "Home Run" story. When I received the first chapters reviewed I've found Zou's editing so compelling that I thought it deserved a place of its own. I hope you all enjoy this terrific version of the original story as much as I do and let Zou know.

* * *

For a long undefined time Bob Brown floated on a sea of pain, sweetness and confusion in equal parts. He had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there. His last real memory was of Grey's cold hands fumbling around with the upper part of his pants and jabbing the promised shot in his hip, the small discomfort seeming inconsequential compared to all his other pains. From there the world grew gradually calmer and he was soon lost in amidst hazy images populated by a strange mix of his own memories and the wildest of fantasies. With far more effort than it should have taken, Bob opened his eyes and tried to make sense of his surroundings. The world around him blurred and shifted leaving him disoriented and slightly nauseous. The only thing he was sure of was that he was not where he was supposed to be . . . and he was alone.

Bob made a pained effort to listen for any sounds that could aide him in figuring out what was going on, but all he heard was the sound of his own chattering teeth and rushing water from not too far away. He carefully rolled over and pushing himself up slightly, managed to drag himself towards the nearest tree, his numb and useless left leg trailing behind him. Then, almost at the end of his very limited resources he rolled over, putting all the pressure on his right hip, and managing to prop himself against the rough bark. The short trek had taken all he had and he sat shivering both with cold and exhaustion. After a moment Bob, looked around again, doing reconnaissance from his marginally upright position. He needed to figure out where he was and what possible avenues of rescue, or resources there might be. However, in only a matter of moments his focus inexorably shifted back to the discomfort and pain that was washing over him in waves of various degrees.

As he visually scanned the area Bob peripherally became aware of sticky coolness under his hands. He looked down and noticed blood on the loose rocks where they rested. He saw that his hands were bleeding, but oddly enough, he felt no pain. Instead his hands were completely numb. He could see that the wool of his gloves had been worn away as well as the skin it was there to protect. He saw that no effort had been made to clean them or remove the fragments of material from the abrasions; he absently wondered why. All in all they looked a mess and Bob did not want to even think about how long it might be before gripping a gun would be comfortable again.

Bob Brown was not the squeamish type but he had to sum up all of his will before looking at his legs, where he vaguely remembered Carlito telling him he was most badly injured; the epicenter of the mind numbing pain that earlier had caused him to lose control. He didn't know what Grey had done to him while he was unconscious, but when he looked at his lower body all he saw were his legs thickly shrouded in the black silky fabric of a standard night drop parachute. He couldn't determine the extent of the injuries that lay beneath the black shroud, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know; at least not just yet. Then, as if the mere act of focusing on his legs caused some invisible barrier that had been holding back the pain to lift, it returned with a vengeance, surging upon him as sharp and merciless as he remembered.

Bob's head fell back against the trunk of the tree and without thinking he called out for his teammate. "Bet- Betty... Betty Blu-blue...? Betty... Blue.." Bob rasped, the haze of pain threatened to overwhelm him again. There was no answer and his world soon drifted to black and he was lost once again in a whirlpool of pain and confusion.

When Bob awoke again, he was no longer propped against the tree he had crawled to but instead was lying on his back. For the first time since he had awoken earthbound Bob's mind seemed somewhat clearer. Unfortunately, this only meant that he was even more aware of the biting cold of the wind against his face and he shivered as it leeched what little warmth he had from his body. He seemed to remember being in the woods thinking that he needed to figure out how to get to an extraction point, when the vicious pain, almost familiar now, engulfed him again. Bob knew that so long as that pain could overwhelm his senses and thoughts and become his entire world, he had no hope of devising his own rescue or saving himself.

"Focus on a wee crack on the wall and do not listen to their voices. That would be fatal. Focus on a wee crack, on anything little, not moving, and let your mind drift". The voice of his old training sergeant, with its slight Scottish brogue, instructing him on how to resist an interrogation came resolute to his mind. While not exactly the same, Bob knew that if he let the pain break his resolve it would have the same devastating results as if he gave into an interrogation. He would lose himself.

"Focus on a wee leaf on that tree and don't think", he told himself, unconsciously using the same phrasing that his sergeant had used.

Bob stared up at all the shades of green swirling in the canopy over his head. He tried to reduce his world to the tiny sunrays trespassing through that massive greenery like golden needles against green felt. He tried several times to focus on how the light shimmered in its relentless attack on the rustling leaves, tried to distract his mind; tried to push the pain into some far back corner of his brain so he could focus on other, more important matters; matters that could be as important as life or death.

He continued trying to clear his mind of everything but the rays of light until his exhausted body betrayed him and his eyes began to close of their own accord. When it became impossible to lift his stone-heavy eyelids, Bob shifted his focus to the faint whispering sound of the wind as it moved through the trees and ruffled the parachute fabric bandaging his legs. It was a comforting sound that brought back memories of quieter, gentler places. If it wasn't for the pain that never ceased washing over him, Bob would have been content to lay there on the ground listening to the sounds of nature and simply drift off.

Then the survivor in him, the part of him that had allowed him to survive his Father and all the other impossible situations in his life kicked in. "Focus! Focus! It's no time to lose it. Not now!" Bob chastised himself when he suddenly realized that he was again losing his grasp on consciousness. By sheer force of will he managed to open his eyes again. He needed to figure out how long he had been down, where he was, and what options he had. He could not allow himself to continually drift as he had been. In his current condition, and in this place, that could be deadly; especially since he didn't know what had happened to his teammate.

Where was Grey? Bob wondered. Had he left him to fly solo? Every group of people has someone they didn't like or want to work with, even in a group as small and intimate as theirs. Brown always regretted that no matter how hard he tried Grey never seemed completely at ease with him. But despite that, in the Unit everyone had a solid sense of loyalty to each other that made no distinctions. He had always counted on Grey's total commitment to the mission and to his teammates. But now he wondered if his faith had been misplaced. He wondered if he was now a team of one.

Despite his own commitment to remain conscious until he figured out the SITREP his eyelids drooped and his blinking slowed until finally he could not muster the strength to open them again.

It was difficult to tell whether it was the morphine or the nearly unbearable pain that made Bob question whether he was going to be able to survive or not on his own. Bob had not been sure of much in his life, but his faith in himself and his abilities had never been something that he questioned before. Bob felt himself fast disappearing again into his own world where the same thoughts rolled over and over in his mind in a crazy endless loop. Pain, Dad, Kim, pain, Serena and Teddy playing, pain, Grey, pain. Bob's world soon reduced to those distinct subjects and as he lay motionless on the forest floor in his self imposed darkness they played over and over through his increasingly foggy brain. Then, sometime during the kaleidoscope of thought and images his unthinking mind latched onto Grey again and a conversation that they had had some months before which still lingered and weighed heavy in his thoughts. A conversation, which given Grey's current MIA status, suddenly seemed to take on ominous significance.

"You know, there is, at least, a difference between you and me, Bob: I'm not here on some personal mission and I don't act out of a sense of revenge. I might be here for a lot of other reasons. I might even be here because I like the rush. But I don't do it for personal reasons."

"You've been on my case since day one. What is it? Haven't I proven myself to you yet? Haven't I earned my place here? Aren't my reasons for wanting to be in the Unit noble enough for you?"

"I don't care much about your reasons for being here, dude; live and let live I say. I have no complaints... but I care about Hector and I care about Mack and Jonas, and the Unit. You came out of the nothing, from the frigging ether man. Nobody I know in the army heard about you before you showed up at selection. You were supposed to have done two tours in Iraq and three careers. You're a highly trained sniper, one of the best I've ever seen . . . the rock stars in every platoon, but no one can seem to remember you. Why is that Bob?"

"Why not just ask me, then?"

"And what's the point in asking? You CIA, Brown?" You're a world –class liar, a professional conman, invented by the government, trained to be the best, just like the rest of us. The only question is which part of the government invented you and who is your master now?" Carlito had stated. His voice had been calm but there had been a fire in his eyes as he said the words.

Bob hadn't responded but instead had chuckled softly and dismissed the accusation by slightly inclining his head to the left, looking at Grey's furrowed eyebrow, saying nothing.

The next time Bob Brown came back to himself, he was leaning half-seated against a rock and the sky was turning towards dusk. Although he didn't remember how, or when, he got into his current position he was fairly certain that he hadn't done it himself. But if Grey had been there why was he gone every time Bob regained consciousness?

This time however, even before he became aware of the ever-constant pain, overwhelming thirst grabbed his attention. Bob's survival instinct kicked in and he unconsciously moved to stand up so he could get to the source of the sound of rushing water that echoes off the trees around him. He collected all his strength and pushed himself upright using a nearby tree for balance as he adjusted to the change in altitude, willing the world to stop spinning around him. He managed a tentative step forward on his "good' leg when his injured left leg gave way beneath him, sending him hard to the ground. The world threatened to go black again as pain, like shards of glass being driven into him, shot up his leg into his hip. Gritting his teeth and controlling his breathing, Bob pushed himself upward again, this time not being so foolish as to believe that he could actually walk anywhere.

His thirst was such that he didn't care if he had to crawl to the water. He needed the liquid, and to prove to himself that he could make it on his own. He didn't recall seeing Grey since his initial crash landing and he was not at all sure that he wasn't alone in this. If he couldn't get himself to water his situation would quickly become critical and any hope of rescue would vanish. But, while his spirit might be willing his body was definitely weak and Bob's arms began trembling with the effort to keep himself upright. Soon the loose ground cover under his hands slipped away, toppling him sideways into a crumpled heap, twisting his injured leg in the process. Without thinking, he raised his hands to clutch at the throbbing limb only to grasp when a new pain shot from his hand and up his arm. Looking down at the new source of agony Bob realized that his earlier uncoordinated fall had now resulted in adding two broken fingers to his growing list of problems.

Frustrated and ashamed at his body's ongoing failure to do what he needed it to do, Bob dismissed the searing pains that shot through him and tried to get to his knees. However, it was soon obvious that such movement was too ambitious and in the end he settled for raising himself a few inches off the ground and easing his way back to his former position against the rock. For all his effort and discomfort he was no closer to having a plan or saving himself than he had been when he first awoken. And he was no closer to knowing if he still had a teammate or if he was now on his own.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: "Home Run" Zou's Edition - Chapter 3

**Original story by**: roomtable202

**Edited by: **Zou

**Fandom**: The Unit

**Disclaimer**: This is intended as a fan fiction, on characters owned by their original creators and I am not making a profit out of it.

**Note:** It was very exciting when Zou offered to review and edit the "Home Run" story. When I received the first chapters reviewed I've found Zou's editing so compelling that I thought it deserved a place of its own. I hope you all enjoy this terrific version of the original story as much as I do and let Zou know.

* * *

Grey had seen more than his fair share of battlefield rescues under heavy fire as a medic before he came to the Unit. He had learned quickly not to listen to the heart breaking desperate cries of the wounded; the sounds of pure agony and the pleading for him to stop whatever he was doing. He found a way to put emotion aside and keep doing his job for the sake of the life that was in his hands. He found a way too to disregard the overwhelming responsibility of triage; deciding who could survive long enough to make it to the evac station and for whom it was more humane a high dose of morphine and let slip away, sparing them the unnecessary suffering that would precede their inevitable death. Battlefield euthanasia it was called, no one spoke about it out loud, but it had been part of every conflict between battling forces, and it was often the soldiers like Grey and his fellow field medics that had to make those calls.

Grey had been told by others that he was a great medic; that his ability to keep doing his job and tune out the chaos around him, including the cries of the wounded and dying, made him so. He never thought about it much, never questioned whether he had any aptitude or affinity for it, either way it never really mattered to him. Grey only saw it as a job, something, that if he was going to do, he was going to do right. He was a good medic, or so he had been told. It was only other people's opinion. All Grey knew is that he'd done everything he'd been trained to do, and apparently done it well; right up until he couldn't do it any longer. Right up until the cries and screams that he had worked so long to ignore started to haunt his waking hours.

Even now, years later, he tried not to think of those times and what he had been forced to do; and what he had been unable to do. Then in some sort of profane twist of fate he had learned how to kill and he was apparently good at that too.

Grey had lost count the very first week of service of how many dying and injured men he had tended. How many he had eased into death or took to safe ground. But the Army loved statistics and someone had been keeping a record. He eventually heard that in just 9 months he had touched no less than 300 soldiers. The counting had been well meaning and was offered as praise to him for the soldiers he helped. But pride was far from what Grey felt about himself. He questioned every decision he made; second guessed each split second choice he was forced into; replaying over and over whether his decisions of life and death had been the right ones. But no one ever knew of his self-doubt and his insecurities. Just as he had done with all his fears and terror as he grew up, Carlito hid behind the chuckling fool image he projected of himself; the fool, who by his mere existence, succeeded in misdirecting people and keeping hidden his darkest thoughts and demons.

Since he had joined the Unit Grey had worked hard at keeping closed the doors that all the terrible memories and images of those two years were locked behind. He worked hard to keep them out of his conscious mind, because he knew; they were what could most effectively and quickly sweep away his sanity. Even now, every time he had to work on one of his mates it took a monumental force of will . . . and often a bottle of whiskey afterwards, to rebury those images and reclose those doors.

Every man in the Unit, on every team, knew that their mates had things they wanted to forget, never spoke of; demons that they never brought forth in the light of day; and struggled with in the dark of night. They all seemed to have something that was better left unexamined, by themselves or by each other. They couldn't risk giving those demons a place in their lives; allowing them to become distractions, losing their focus, therefore, there was no point in talking about them and the subject was never broached. To a man they fought each day to keep themselves safe from the jaws of the past that seemed to always be lashing out at them; trying to drag them back . . . they had to keep the past at bay, away from themselves and away from their team mates.

So, when a few hours ago, Grey was faced with the limp and bleeding body of Bob Brown lying in front of him, he was again confronted with tough decisions that he didn't want to make. Bob's leg injury was serious, but with some rough field care his life would not be in immediate jeopardy. Although the longer he was away from medical care the more uncertain that would become. However, Grey knew at a glance that in order for Brown to have any hope of regaining full use of his leg he would require the skills of an experienced trauma surgeon. Carlito knew that the injury he saw, if not properly treated, could easily impair Bob for life and effectively end his military career, or at least his ability to stay in the Unit.

Grey struggled to decide what to do. Should he stay and remove the wood that had impaled his teammate and was now deeply imbedded in Bob's leg, risking catastrophic blood loss, but ease the suffering that leaving it in place would cause? Or should he just stabilize Brown, immobilize his leg with the branch still in place and leave him behind to search for a way to make contact and get a medevac to Brown?

These were his only two choices at this point. He knew that carrying the dead weight of Brown to either of the extraction points was not an option. Not only could Brown not survive that sort of rough handling, yet but there was simply no way that Grey could man-handle his much larger teammate for that many miles.

Grey weighed his options knowing that no matter what he did Brown would probably take a downward turn soon as an infection was all but certain given the amount of debris that had been forced into the wound tract. Also, Brown's earlier agitation, most likely a combination of extreme pain and some level of head injury, made it a near certainty that he would not simply lay quietly and wait while Carlito took a "walk about." Add to that his unknown response to morphine and the need to properly attend to his wounds, and ultimately the decision was made; Grey would do all he could to get and keep Bob stable, attend to his wounds, ease his pain with morphine, and wait to make any other decisions until he knew what directions Brown's condition would go.

Having made his choice Grey moved to his go-bag and retrieved the field medical kit that was stashed there. Then steeling himself for what was to come, he mentally opened a door in his brain and allowed Carlito the medic to come out to play.

Once Brown was as settled as Grey could make him, having treated his wounds the best he could with their limited supplies, Carlito hunkered down to sit vigil, wiping sweat from his brow and rubbing the stiffness from his neck. Now all he could do was wait and see. He had never seen Brown on morphine, in fact he didn't know if the guy had ever received it before, and so he remained at his wounded teammate's side watching for any unexpected or adverse reactions to the drug. He lay on his side and curled his body into Brown's attempting to pass onto the injured man some warmth. He closed his eyes and rested his arm lightly across Bob's chest so he could monitor his breathing. And while his arm was relaxed he remained ready to react, to cushion, with his own body if need be, any spasms or movement by Brown, whether caused by a drug reaction or from pain, and prevent him from further injuring himself.

Grey knew that he needed some rest too. He knew in the coming hours, or perhaps days, he likely would be the only thing standing between Brown and death, assuming that their rescue did not happen soon. Feeling Brown shiver again Grey opened his eyes and searched the area until he saw what he was looking for, reaching out he pulled the remaining fabric of one of the parachutes over them and the soft silk provided a small but welcome barrier against the wind. After one last check on his teammate, Grey again closed his eyes and relaxed for a time, but didn't asleep. He simply listened to Bob's even breathing and began working on a plan of action in his head while he waited.

Carlito was sitting up the moment he felt Brown awakening from his drug induced stupor. And although the man wasn't overly coherent he was calm. Grey got up, doing a quick check of Bob's vitals, a little off but not too bad, and making sure that the bleeding had not started up again. Seeing that Brown was stable enough, he decided that it would be safe to go do a quick reconnaissance for water and food. He'd also try to determine where they were and what how he might devise a rescue plan. The mission had not been expected to be a long one, nor were they supposed to be in the rough, therefore, all the provisions they had were the protein bars that both he and Bob had in their packs. Not nearly enough to sustain them, especially with Bob needing the extra calories to help him heal.

"Bob, listen . . . Here's my idea. What if we make a camp here for a few days, until your leg gets a little better? I saw some thyme growing wild and we can use that to make a tea to help stave off infection. We've got plenty of water nearby, I can hunt up some food, and there's plenty of material to make a pretty decent shelter . . . What's the rush, right?" Grey never stopped talking as he bent down and grabbed the clearly disoriented man under the arms, dragging him carefully away from the steep slope leading down to the river that had been the original "crash site." With as much care as possible he settled Bob into a more comfortable and protected position in the trees.

"The rush is called Kim." Bob surprised Carlito by mumbling back.

"They won't tell her a thing until they're sure about our fate. Kim will only know that you're still on deployment. Mack and Top will keep on looking for us, you know that. There's even a chance that they could find us and lend us a hand getting out of here. What do you say?"

"I need to go." Bob muttered and made a move as if to get up, something that Grey knew he was in no condition to do.

"To go where, man? You're good here. There's no need to go anywhere. I'll tell you what: get some rest, OK? We'll talk about going after you rest up a bit." Grey cajoled while he grabbed Bob and physically settled him back in place.

"We need to let them know we're OK. Did you tell them?" Bob asked, still not really grasping the situation.

"They know."

"And do we know if they're OK?"

"They are."

"How do you know?"

"It's all about faith . . ."

"You . . . faith . . . ?" Bob stared at him in amazement.

"I have Faith . . . Faith in their ways . . . in their training . . . Just like they have faith on yours, in ours . . . Faith that everybody is doing what has to be done, what they've been trained to do . . . and faith that they'll do it well . . . "

"Faith . . . Sure thing . . . But I have to be there, take me there. It's what you have to do. It was the mission and I have to get there." Bob insisted, his eyes unfocused as he spoke.

"I'll tell you what: enough democracy for one day. I think I gave you too much happy juice there Bob, and you're still in seventh heaven. You need to rest a while and let the morphine wear off a bit. You do that and I'll start setting things up around here so we're more comfortable. Remember not to move around, especially your left leg, alright? You don't feel a thing now but you're held together like a scarecrow and I don't want you to put my sewing skills to the test again. You've got stitches everywhere, but mostly in your leg and if you move you'll risk tearing them out and start the bleeding again. You've already lost more than your fair share of blood today Bob and you can't afford to lose anymore. Do you understand?" Grey asked. When no reply was forthcoming he tried again. "Bob, it's serious: no moving. Understood? No moving." This time Carlito grabbed Bob's chin in his hand and turned Bob's face so that their eyes met. He waited until Bob gave an almost imperceptible nod before releasing his hold.

Then, before Grey could even rise from the ground to start his housekeeping tasks Bob said, "Give me my go-bag."

Trying with all his might to keep the frustration out of his voice, knowing that Bob was not trying to be difficult, but that it was the combination of the head injury, the blood loss and the morphine making him hard to reason with, Carlito responded. "Bob, I just told you that you have to stay down and be still. Leave the bag for later. You have nowhere you need to be, man. It's all being taken care of."

"YOU GIVE ME MY GO-BAG, GREY!" Bob demanded, anger burning fiercely in his oddly colored eyes. It was only an odd trick of the light, but as the sun landed on his face Bob's eye glowed an unearthly golden color; they didn't look quite human, or quite sane.

Grey could not recall ever seeing that look in Bob's eyes before and he had to admit he was glad that the guy was usually such a cool customer. That's why he had ultimately ended up with the moniker "Cool Breeze" after all. The man never made waves, never seemed to lose it: never let go of that strangle hold he had on his emotions. But the anger Grey saw now was raw and scary and for the first time Carlito could see the killer that lay beneath Bob's cool and amiable façade. "Dude! Calm down. Man, even strung out, you're stubborn as an Afghan mule! Here's your bag, right beside you . . . Now go to sleep, Bob."

"I can take care of myself. If you won't help me there, I'll go on my own . . . " Bob grabbed at the go-bag that was now within reach and once again turned onto his side as if to get up.

"Yo! Hold it, now! I said we're staying for now. Later on, if things are different, we'll decide if we should leave then. Right now your job, your only job, is to rest." Grey said, again reaching for Brown, trying to still his movements and prevent him from ripping out the stitches that they had just talked about.

"I feel good, I'm fine. I can make it on my own and you are not in command. Go rest yourself. I'll go alone." Bob argued as he continued to fight against Grey's restrictive grasp, his raising anger giving him more strength than he should have been capable of.

Suddenly Carlito had his hands full with 180 pounds of angry, drugged Special Forces soldier. "Ride it out, dude. Ride it out. It's not you, bro, it's the morphine talking. Hear me, Bobbo? You need to calm down and try to get some sleep. You're seriously injured; you have to be still now." Grey tried to reason with Brown as he found himself struggling to hold the man still without using too much force and ripping out the delicate stitches that he had just spent an hour sewing into his teammate's flesh. " No, Stop it! Be still! Bob, don't try to . . . " Grey's sentence was amputated midway through when he hunched forward to get a better grip on Bob and ended up receiving an unexpected kick to his ribcage from Bob's obviously still functioning right leg.

The blow propelled him spread eagled into the air and as he landed he stumbled to the edge of the nearby slope, the loose gravel shifting under his feet. His momentum and the pull of gravity combined perfectly and Grey was helpless to stop himself from falling down the slope towards the fast moving river below. There was little to stop his downward tumble, not ever the few bushes were enough to slow the speed with which he descended the embankment. As he rolled a cascade of little rocks and dirt accompanied him until he finally came to a halt on the bed of smooth round stones that lines the edge of the river: his unconscious body sprawled in a careless heap.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: "Home Run" Zou's Edition - Chapter 4

**Original story by**: roomtable202

**Edited by: **Zou

**Fandom**: The Unit

**Disclaimer**: This is intended as a fan fiction, on characters owned by their original creators and I am not making a profit out of it.

**Note:** It was very exciting when Zou offered to review and edit the "Home Run" story. When I received the first chapters reviewed I've found Zou's editing so compelling that I thought it deserved a place of its own. I hope you all enjoy this terrific version of the original story as much as I do and let Zou know.

* * *

Brown closed his eyes, curled up as best he could on the cold hard ground and rode the crest of a new burst of pain, his broken fingers the newest exclamation point on his symphony of discomforts. When he heard a soft scraping sound he jerked his eyes open again, looking for the source of the sound, only to make out the blurry form of Carlito moving slowly, stiffly heading towards him; even across the distance between the Bob could hear that Grey was panting heavily as if returning from a hike.

Frustrated by his own weakness, Bob unthinkingly said, "I could use some help here... and I would appreciate some speed, man..." Grey launched a cold, hard stare directly down at him, clearly letting it be known that he was in no mood for a scolding from Bob. Brown wisely said nothing more and waited for Carlito to reach him.

When he was by Brown's side, his boots close to Bob's broken fingers, Grey snapped out loud and harsh "Yo! What did you do that for?"

Something that Bob learned pretty quickly about his mates in the Unit was how difficult it was to tell when someone was joking or was utterly pissed off; their moods changing so rapidly that it was sometime impossible to tell the two apart, which could lead to someone jumping to the wrong conclusion and going for the jugular on occasion.

Their eyes locked. Brown's body sagged shifted further down the slight slope, thumping against Grey's legs. Wordlessly, Carlito bent to cup Bob's head before it hit against the bedrock next to him. Then, still in silence, Grey reached down with his free arm and grabbed lifted Bob a few inches off the ground to move him to safely once again, grunting in pain as it did so.

With Grey's arms holding him tight, Bob made a slight adjustment and slowly, painfully shifted into a half seated position with an outcropping to their left offering some small amount of cover. He still couldn't remember where they were or how they had gotten there. Nor did he have the slightest idea why Grey was staring at him with such intensity, but whatever the reason, Grey was definitely not in a joking mood.

"Tell me! Why did you do that for?" Grey spit out again.

Brown gazed back at his teammate in confusion and uncertainly. He drew himself up straight, cradling his injured hand against his chest, looking closely at Grey. As he focused on his teammate he noticed that Carlito's face was slightly ashen and lined in pain, his body soaked with sweat, but despite his obvious discomfort his eyes didn't give away whatever was set to boiling in his head. Grey broke their stare first and closed his eyes, letting out a wheezing breathe, trying desperately to draw new air into his lungs, drops of sweat dripped from his wet curls, falling in rivulets onto his face.

"I . . ." Bob started to say, but stopped when he really had no answer for Grey since he really didn't understand the question. While bits and pieces of what he thought were memories of the last few hours, or was it day, flashed in and out of his mind, Bob could not quite grasp what had happened, what Grey was asking.

Then, in a startling quick move, Grey went on his hands and knees, busy picking through the debris on the forest floor, searching for something. Bob didn't think that Grey had even noticed his two broken fingers when, suddenly, he was at this side again grabbing Bob's injured hand none too gently.

"Hey. Easy... Easy..." Bob hissed.

"What now? A little bit more of whimpering and whining there, pretty boy?" Grey said in a tone of voice that could only be called a snarl.

Bob was so shocked by the venom being hurled at him that he was absolutely unprepared when Grey, holding tightly at Bob's wrist with one hand, pulled his swollen fingers straight with the other. It took Bob's stunned mind a moment to catch up and then a trail of hot red pain that emanated from the manipulation of the broken bones slammed into Bob's mind.

"You, son of a- !! What's the matter with you?" Bob cried out, trying to pull his abused appendage away from his tormenter.

A forceful strike of Grey's open hand against his shoulder pinned his back to the embankment, sending a new set of searing pain to his brain.

"Cool it! Suck it up soldier! You need to stop fighting me."

Brown's head sagged again as he fought for breath, gritting his teeth while Grey bound together his two broken fingers with the small sticks he had scavenged off the ground and a piece of his own shirt. Then he turned Bob's hands over and seemed to notice for the first time the damage to his palms from fighting with his ripcord at 30,000 feet, and to his fingertips from scrambling along the ground earlier. With a gentleness that was at odds with his behavior of just moments ago Carlito took the scissors from his field kit and cut through the wool gloves, carefully peeling the fabric away from the abused flesh.

"Stay put till I get back." Brown didn't dare say anything to his quixotic teammate so he let his mind drift once more, trying to piece together what was happening. However, despite his best efforts everything stayed blurry, fragments of the past few hours, or days, he was still uncertain as to the passage of time, floating through his mind in pools of blood red and spotlight white, scattering like lost puzzle pieces under the influence of the last of the morphine his body was still processing.

"You CIA, Brown? You can tell me, now. It doesn't matter, all that matters right now is that we get you patched up and back to Kim and kids, that's all that important. I'm just trying to figure out how best to help you, man. Tell me, are you CIA? Will they be looking for you too?"

A new flash of pain seemed to bring new awareness to Bob and he looked around, seeking its source, thinking it was something else that Grey was subjecting him to; it wasn't. Then he saw some movement about 30 yards away, it was Grey sitting with his back to a tree, knees pulled up to his chin, arms hugging them close, his head down, and both of their go-bags open at his side. Even from this distance Bob could see that his shoulders were shaking and Bob was shocked to hear what he thought was soft sobbing.

He had seen Grey act out before, doing crazy stunts, edgy, angry, and drunk. He'd seen him scared and in deep physical and emotional pain, but he'd always stood his ground. To see him folded in a heap of broken nerves was unsettling to say the least. Bob realized that his own tribulations and now mounting fever were quickly taking hold of him, making him less perceptive of the stress this situation was placing on Grey. Despite his own troubles Bob vowed to reach out to his teammate and try to take some of the strain onto himself.

Brown didn't see what Grey held nestled in his hands, hidden from view; he didn't yet know that he had much more to worry about.

"Grey... Carlito... Hey, man..." Bob called out, the only answer . . . silence.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: "Home Run" Zou's Edition - Chapter 5

**Original story by**: roomtable202

**Edited by: **Zou

**Fandom**: The Unit

**Disclaimer**: This is intended as a fan fiction, on characters owned by their original creators and I am not making a profit out of it.

**Note:** It was very exciting when Zou offered to review and edit the "Home Run" story. When I received the first chapters reviewed I've found Zou's editing so compelling that I thought it deserved a place of its own. I hope you all enjoy this terrific version of the original story as much as I do and let Zou know.

* * *

Grey gently rested his hand on Brown's forehead, checking if the fever that had been raging in the man for the past few days had finally started to subside, surprised when he flinched away, eyes flashing open, fixing briefly on Grey before slamming tightly shut again. The confusion and pain reflected in Brown's hazel green eyes during that brief moment made him look young and vulnerable. Grey couldn't help but respond with affection for the injured man; the anger that he had been nursing since finding the hidden GPS in Brown's go-bag quickly being overridden by his need to reassure a teammate, a brother.

"Bob? Bob?" Carlito spoke gently, not wanted to startle Brown again.

"Mmmm" Bob groaned, his eyes opening again but wandering aimlessly, never focusing on anything in particular.

"Bob... Wake up. Are you with me?" Grey moved one hand to the side of Brown's face and turned it towards him, trying to get him to settle his gaze.

"Mmm, No. What? No! No! Get away!" Bob responded, weakly batting at Carlito's hands, his movements uncoordinated and futile.

"Bob... Hey...Shhsss... It's me, Charles...Carlito." Grey crooned; not at all sure that Brown was really with him yet.

"Mmmm..." Bob moaned out, eyes drifting closed again.

"No, come on Bob. Open your eyes. You need to open your eyes now Sleeping Beauty. Look at me. Hey!" This time Grey gave the injured man a gentle shake to emphasize his words and keep him from drifting back into unconsciousness where he had spent much of the past few days.

"Ahhh..." Bob cried out, his voice raspy and weak.

"I know . . . Open your eyes... Please... Come on, man..." Grey slapped him lightly on the face.

"Don't!!" Brown replied, his hands reflexively striking out at Grey's. They hit their mark more by chance than anything else.

"Ow!! Hey!, Dude..!! Don't hit me! Just open your eyes... It's Grey."

Finally something made it through to Brown and his eyes reopened, glassy and unfocused, but this time directed at Grey; the lines on his brow and the tightness around his mouth clearly indicating pain.

"Bob... I know you're hurting man. I know you're tired. You tried to go on a little field trip without me and opened your wounds again. We didn't have anymore sutures so I just had to pack them as best I could. You lost a lot of blood, you're weak now. You've had a tough couple of days bro, but it's gonna be OK. I took care of it," Carlito said, hoping that at least some of his words were getting through and making sense. "No, no, no... Don't move, don't move." He instructed when Brown became restless again.

"Oh, God, no more..." Brown pleaded his back arching in agony.

"Hey, it's OK. I'm here, by your side. I'm with you, bro. Do you feel my hand on your head? I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. Be still. Slow your breathing. Focus, man, focus. You'll feel better soon. It'll be over soon, I promise. I wish I had something to give you but we ran out of morphine. We'll do this together OK. I know it hurts," Carlito said sympathetically, well aware that the first moments after regaining consciousness, when you have to swim through the sea of sensations and come to terms with pain and dizziness, were disorienting.

"Ahhh . . . Hurts." Bob replied, finally resting still on the ground, chest heaving from exertion.

"I know... I know... I know... Relax, relax... Don't move on your own or you'll hurt yourself... Bob... Listen to me... You're doing Ok. Just keep still. I'm sorry I had to wake you but you need to drink something; you're dehydrated from the fever and blood loss. We need to get some food into you and if you're really good, and talk sweet to me I'll even help you take a leak. You've been down a long time bro; we need to start getting you in shape to be rescued. Need to get you prettied up for Kim. . OK?" Grey spoke in a conversational tone, giving Brown time to adjust to his new state of consciousness and grasp the situation. "Between the morphine and the fever you've been out of it man. That's why you're a little bit confused... but it's OK... Are you with me? Bob...?"

"Yeah... Oh.. . What?" Brown answered, starting to settle a little, his gaze slightly less wild.

"Hey, welcome back. That's it. Try to steady your breathing now. Just be easy. Be still, you'll feel better soon."

"Where... Where... are we...?" He questioned his voice raw and rasping, coughing as he tried to clear his throat.

"Deep in the woods but without little red riding hood to keep us warm. Hey, how are you holding up?"

"I don't even know... I hurt all over. What happened? Tell me what happened?" Bob asked, finally able to piece together an entire sentence, even if he was still unable to piece together anything else.

"Well let's see, the abridged version? Your parachute lines got tangled with a grenade and I played white knight and came to your rescue. You had an intimate relationship with some trees. I'm still not sure who won or lost that encounter. You tried to impersonate a shish-kebab, impaled yourself and hurt your leg pretty bad. You proved that gravity is more powerful than even Special Forces and rang your bell impressively; not your best landing ever my friend. You've made a mess out of your hands and looks like you went one on one with a paper shredder . . . and lost. Yep, I think that covers it." Grey hoped that his light-hearted rendition of events would help downplay how traumatic the past few days had been and get Brown thinking about getting stronger and getting home.

"How long?" Bob croaked.

"Since when? Your less than graceful landing? Almost three days. Feel like drinking some water?"

"Yes..." Bob replied, unconsciously licking his dry cracked lips at the prospect of it, moving to lift his head and reach for the canteen.

"No, don't move... Don't move, yet... I'll bring it to your lips... Let me do the work, I'll raise your head myself... Don't strain... You're doing much better, but I could only patch you up so much. You're gonna be tender for a bit. So just let me do it for you... OK?"

"Sorry..."

"It's all right... Just let me help you... There..."

"Ah... Oh, God...!" Bob moaned, eyes clenched tight.

"Drinking hurts?" Grey questioned, worried that some new problem was presenting itself.

"No, man... Drinking feels like the best thing in the world right now," Bob replied, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

Relieved, Grey continued. "There's some thyme in the water. That's what you taste. Drink as much as you can. You need to hydrate"

"Thyme?"

"Yeah, I boiled it with the water. It's good for infections. I used some to clean your wounds too."

"Yeah..?" Bob absently responded, turning his head away from the canteen to indicate he was finished.

"Yeah, it works wonders. Now drink some more... Come on..." Carlito encouraged, bringing the container back to Bob's lips and tipping it slightly, giving him only the option to swallow or drown.

Caught unprepared Bob didn't manage to coordinate his breathing and swallowing and started to cough as he choked on some water he'd managed to inhale.

"Sorry, Man." Grey apologized, pulling the canteen away and lifting Bob higher off the ground to help him catch his breath. "You all right?"

"Sure. Will be. Sorry"

"No worries, bro. My bad, I'll give you more warning next time. Now just relax and let me see how you're doing. Take some deep breaths. Relax. Take some air, take some air." Grey instructed, the voice again dropping to a hypnotic cadence as he peeled away the bandage wrapped around Brown's leg, checking the packed wound for any signs of bleeding or worsening infection.

"Oooh, Argh, man! Damn, that hurts!"

"Take it easy, dude. Take it easy. I'm right here. Breathe, just breathe. 1..2..3..4.. come on, you know the drill." Carlito said, never taking his eyes off the task at hand.

"God, that hurts!!"

"I know. Easy, easy... Just try to relax. Just breathe through it, ok? You're doing fine. Just try to keep still a few seconds more, alright? I'm going as quickly as I can Bobby, I promise."

"Couldn't you have done that before waking me?" Bob gritted out.

"Nah, then we wouldn't have a "war story" to tell at the bar with the guys... You feel this?"

"Ow!!" Bob cried out, lifting his head to look at what Grey was doing.

"No, no, no! Don't look! Look up! Look at me! And this, do you feel this?" Grey asked as he moved his hands to different places on Brown's leg to determine if there was nerve damage or something worse that he couldn't see.

Bob nodded in the affirmative, not taking his eyes off the canopy above him. "What do you think?"

"It's a good sign. It means a nice blood flow." It also probably meant minimal nerve damage and no necrosis but Grey chose not to mention those probabilities as he didn't even want to put those sort of thoughts into Brown's head. "Hey, you're doing good, everything's going fine."

Grey then checked Brown's other wounds, making sure they were healing properly and showing no further signs of infection, rinsing them with more of the thyme infused water, changing the improvised dressings. Finally, he rebandaged Brown's leg and took care to reposition it in a comfortable position atop a bed of dry leaves that he had gathered earlier.

"Easy, easy... AH! Easy..."

"So sorry, milady... You alright now?"

"Will... be...gimme a sec.... Need a minute. Just a minute"

"Sorry, Bob. I had to check on things."

"It's OK. ... Don't... bother... It's not ... your fault... God... I don't think I've ever hurt this much in my whole life." Bob admitted.

Grey sat beside his injured teammate, one of their helmets filled with water, repeatedly dipping a torn piece of parachute material in the liquid and running the cool wet cloth over Bob's face and down his neck to his collar. "Feeling a little bit better now? Your fever broke earlier. It's not completely gone, but it's a lot better. You're doing OK you know? You're going to be fine."

"Where have you been... while I was blasted black?"

"Here,... around..."

"What day is it?"

"Sunday."

"Sunday..."

"Yeah... I know. It would be so much better if it were Tuesday and we had an excuse to skip that exciting "Military Support to Civil Authorities" seminar." Grey replied, placing the damp rag against Brown's forehead.

Brown closed his eyes, relaxing into the ministration. "You should leave. Go look for help. You can't carry me out; it's a question of physics."

"I don't need to carry you; I can drag your ass along on a travois if necessary. I'm not the problem here. Be patient, all in due time."

"It's uphill. And we're too far away... Never get there in time." Brown argued, letting his head sag sideways, not seeing Grey's back stiffen at his words, the anger and rage that had been set aside earlier reignite in his eyes.

"Where is "there" and when is "in time", Brown?" Grey growled, his tone cold and hard.

"What?" Brown was suddenly on full alert; eyes snapping open, adrenaline pumping.

"Your grenade didn't get tangled in your lines did it? You made it all up. An artistic touch so you had an excuse to jump before the Team." Grey accused.

"What?"

"Everything about you is about perfection. You'd never make an error like that, a grenade unsecured in your hands just moments before a HALO jump... You had second orders. Wheels within wheels. You just never counted on me jumping after you and reaching for the grenade. That's what made you lose focus, made you lose direction, isn't it?"

"What are you-..." But Grey cut him short.

"And after I untangled it from your lines and threw it away during our freefall, I never heard or saw it explode. You with CIA, Brown?" Grey demanded, his face only inches from Bob's.

Bob glared back defiantly, his breathing deep and ragged. Grey watched those odd hazel eyes ice over before turning away: Bob's pupils didn't contract, no signs of confusion there, only cold determination; no sign that he would start talking either.

"You're playing in another league and I want mine back, Bob." Carlito demanded.

"Get over yourself. We're all playing in the same league. We share the same objectives. Why don't you trust me?" Bob replied, his voice eerily calm.

"A slave of two masters? I can't trust you."

Bob stared at Grey, his gaze arctic. "Trust comes from truth. What is true is that there was a purpose in preparing for our HALO jump. It was an important piece of the whole scenario, and in that scenario, right now, right here, we are not doing our part. Being stuck here was not in anyone's plan. You want truth? Truth, I didn't pretend to lose the ripcord. Truth, it was in no plans that I crash to earth and risk dying. Truth, my leg would be healing with proper care in a hospital. What other truths do you need?"

"Wow..."

"I appreciate what you did for me, but you said yourself that things are changing for the better so just go. Leave me here with my go-bag and the necessary supplies to wait for the extraction and just go."

"Your go-bag?" Carlito parroted, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, it's the right thing to do and you know it. Do I have to remind you of your own plea that the team do the same in Beirut? That we leave you. I don't understand why you aren't acting in accord to your own words."

Grey's hand gently pressed at his own ribs, feeling the bulging scar where the chest tube had been, an ever present reminder of Hector's relentless heroic fight to save his life; of their collective sacrifice. The pain of his recent fall had reignited the still angry nerves at the site of the injury, tightening his chest and causing a bout of coughing, which only escalated into more pain, more memories, until he was nauseous with it.

"Man... Brown... That's low. This is wrong, all of this is wrong."

Grey's eyes shone darkly, the intensity of his pain and anger such that Brown decided it was best to end the confrontation and the conversation; there would be no reasoning or understanding to be found right now. Turning away from Carlito, Bob closed his eyes still angry at the accusations that had been hurled at him, accusations that he knew where unfounded, he couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "I'm an American fighting man, my first and only duty is to do what I have been ordered to do, no matter what the cost. But you . . .?

Bob jerked in reaction as a cool hard caress brushed his face, shocked surprise in his eyes at finding Grey hunched over him, his deep dark brown eyes bright with the reflection of the knife's blade he held pressed against Brown's cheek, their coldness equaled by Grey's blood chilling tone.

"You've got no right to doubt me. No right at all."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: "Home Run" Zou's Edition - Chapter 6

**Original story by**: roomtable202

**Edited by: **Zou

**Fandom**: The Unit

**Disclaimer**: This is intended as a fan fiction, on characters owned by their original creators and I am not making a profit out of it.

**Note:** It was very exciting when Zou offered to review and edit the "Home Run" story. When I received the first chapters reviewed I've found Zou's editing so compelling that I thought it deserved a place of its own. I hope you all enjoy this terrific version of the original story as much as I do and let Zou know.

* * *

"Hey... Take it away... I can do my own shaving." Bob said in as light a tone as he could muster while having a knife only inches from his throat.

Grey stared coldly at Brown, his face hard, his rage at Brown barely contained before finally sheathing his knife in a smooth swift motion.

The air between the two men was thick with anger although neither said a word, cold eyes meeting a fiery glare. The tension was suddenly broken when an ominous cracking sound rang out like a shot, followed by Grey spitted what was obviously a piece of tooth into his hand. Both men stared at it, enthralled by physical proof of the tension that had between them. Their gazes met again, this time in amazement; Brown's softening to a sympathetic grin; the prior antagonism shattering, just as the tooth had.

"It could have been worse. You could have broken a fingernail and spoiled your manicure." Bob teased, hoping to further diffuse the situation. Grey's eyes rolled up and he exhaled, his aggravation dissipating on gust of air. "Want me to have a look at it?"

"Hate dentists; especially Army dentists."

"So, we have something in common. Let me take a look" Brown said, then waited to see if Grey would accept his offer.

Grey met his eyes for a moment, as if looking for something there then signed and opened his mouth. Brown grabbed the penlight from the medkit near his side to better see what damage had been done. "Open up a little more. I can't see anything. "He instructed. "Swallow down the blood and tilt your head. Yeah. I can see it. You've cracked your back molar, the one with that old filling you've been bitching about. Looks like a couple more small pieces are loose and should come out; but there should be enough of to get a crown... I think... Hold on." Brown reached again for the medkit and withdrew a pair of tweezers and gripped them in his throbbing fingers, just managing to hide the grimace of pain that caused. He carefully reached into Grey's mouth for the fragments of tooth that were clearly beyond hope. "There... I've got one" he said, offering it to Grey who plucked it from the tweezers and cupped it in his hand with the other piece he'd spit out earlier. Bob waited, staring at him and quirked his eyebrows until Grey relented and opened his mouth once more so Brown could remove the last loose piece of dentition. "And here is the other. You OK?"

"It's OK."

Both men were quiet for some time, lost in their own thoughts of what had transpired; what had been said and what hadn't.

Finally Brown broke the quiet. "Listen, we need to settle things up, right now? We need to get out of this hole ASAP. We need to put everything else out of our minds except the new mission: getting out of here. I'll tell you everything I know and you tell me what's bothering you so much since I can't read your mind."

"I guess I can get down with that."

"I'll start. Yes, you were right; the mishap with the grenade was part of the exercise. Ryan himself came up with it. I had to have a valid reason to jump early. And yes, you were right; it was a dud grenade, except it was supposed to actually give out a small explosion for effect. I'm sure he won't be pleased that it malfunctioned. Expect the unexpected, right?"

"It was a cruel trick bro, to make the team believe you were blown away and having to carry on. Especially after what happened to us in Beirut." Grey said, the memory of that horrible mission reflected in his eyes.

"That was the point. It had to be something that would unsettle everybody and turn everything upside down. What Ryan didn't count on was you trying to save my ass instead of going ahead with the mission as planned. Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, I really do, but you have to know he's going to be pissed as hell." Bob said gently, knowing the other man was still hurting; still missed Hector. The two had been more than just "brothers in arms" they had been "brothers in heart" and Brown knew that it would be a long time before Grey got over that loss.

"I don't give a rat's ass what he thinks." Grey said with heat.

"Well that's between you and the Colonel to work out. All I can do is try to make you understand that I didn't want any of it. I didn't want to hurt you guys, but those were my orders. Ask Ryan. And, yes, I've lied to you, betrayed you and put you at risk as a consequence of those orders; just like I might have to do one day on a live mission. I hope you would understand and still have my back."

"But you're an American fighting man and you do what you have to do no matter what." Grey remarked snidely.

Brown responded in kind, his ire rising at the accusation that somehow doing his duty was to be ridiculed. "What, you resent that I didn't tip my hand and give the team intel about my separate orders? If our roles had been reversed what would you have done? You would have played your role, followed your orders? Or would you have started second guessing command and doing whatever the hell you please. Tell me now because if that's where you're going then maybe you're right, maybe there is no hope for trust between us. Because I sure as hell can't trust a teammate who is going to go lone wolf on a mission because it suits his fancy. Would you have followed the orders or not?" Bob queried, wondering if in fact Grey would have or if he would have found a way to let the Unit know that it was all a ruse. While the idea of sparing his buddies was an appealing one, the thought that any member of the unit would risk a mission like that was worrisome to Brown. Maybe Beirut had broken Grey more than could be fixed.

Grey's only response was a glance at Brown before he lowered his eyes away.

"We don't need to be friends," Brown continued, "but trust is paramount in what we do. You want to know how you can trust me? Well, I need the same thing. I need to know that I can trust you and rely on you or we'll never be able to work as a team. How do we do that?"

"I don't know. I seem to be plum out of Jonas's rice tricks."

"Then just make up your mind once and for all. Either trust me or don't. Take me at face value or don't, but either damnit decide!" Bob's voice trailed off, leaving the words hanging in the air between the two men.

Grey's stare this time was hard and direct, and despite Brown's appeal, he didn't say a word.

"Go! Come on! What do you want to know? I can see in it in your eyes. You want to know something, so just ask before you choke on it and take us both down." Bob demanded.

"Why haven't you told me about the GPS in your go-bag. I found it. It works." Grey finally said.

"That's what this is about. You've got it all wrong!" Brown replied incredulously.

"Well, is it there or isn't it?

"Yeah, but..." Grey cut Bob off.

"So, why's it there, Bob?"

"The GPS was there for me to get back to the team: to stalk and harass you from behind the lines. Be the unexpected"

"Part of the exercise..." Grey said, his eye rolling to skyward, shaking his head not buying what Brown was selling.

"Yeah, part of the exercise. Look, according to you I've been out of it for more than three days. I barely remember that first day at all, and then between the morphine and the fever it's all a blur. All I really remember, until now, is waking up in pain, bloody, broken and totally alone. I have a vague memory of you resetting my broken fingers, which hurt like a bitch by the way. Everything else is just agonizing pain, confusion and wondering why I was alone. That's all. These last two hours are the only ones I can recall clearly. So tell me when exactly we were supposed to have this conversation about the GPS device before now?" Brown demanded, frustration coming off of him in waves, even as the high emotions were sapping his energy.

"Someone should tell Ryan that when you play God, one way or another, the world is never the same. He may like the taste of that power, but he sure as hell can't pull it off. The robes don't fit." Grey commented and then went quiet for a while before deciding it was probably best to shift the conversation into safer territory. "Now enough talking for now, you need to eat. Have some of these blueberries I found. You need the carbs. I'll go and get some protein."

Bob ignored the food that Grey offered him, not ready to end the conversation, knowing that nothing had really been resolved. "Listen, man, we specialize in the unlikely, the unknown, the unexpected, it's only logical we train that way too. There is no conspiracy, there is no CIA involvement... Hey, talk to me. What else is there burning your gut? Get it out." Bob asked, seeing that his teammate was still preoccupied about something.

"You want an example? We all keep a field dressing in the map pocket of our pants. Same place everyone. Thus, we all know where to look for it, it's easier to grab if someone takes a hit. After all, it's the main pocket, where we carry all the sensitive things to destroy or make disappear in case a man is down. We all do; all but you. I had to search for yours when I needed it."

"This is all because you lost some time looking for a-" Grey cut him short with an imposing low tone.

"And that's my point Bob, in what we do, being a team, we need to feel and act like one singular individual. We need to think and act as one. You don't work like that. You make our Team, a team plus one. Funny, you still don't get it." Grey said and went silent.

Brown tried to draw Grey out a few times, tried in vain to argue his cause, to make Grey see that he was loyal to and a part of the Unit: Grey stayed tight-lipped. After a while Brown gave up and drifted to sleep. Grey got up, pulled on his gloves and went deep into the forest in search of food, or so that's what he told himself: leaving his sleeping teammate alone once more.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: "Home Run" Zou's Edition - Chapter 7

**Original story by**: roomtable202

**Edited by: **Zou

**Fandom**: The Unit

**Disclaimer**: This is intended as a fan fiction, on characters owned by their original creators and I am not making a profit out of it.

**Note:** It was very exciting when Zou offered to review and edit the "Home Run" story. When I received the first chapters reviewed I've found Zou's editing so compelling that I thought it deserved a place of its own. I hope you all enjoy this terrific version of the original story as much as I do and let Zou know.

* * *

Grey had to leave their camp before he lost control again and shamed himself even more. He could not believe what he had just done to Brown. The man was injured and weak, totally dependent on him, and Grey had lost it and pulled a knife. He wouldn't have done that to a stranger; yet he did it to one of his brothers in arms.

Grey thought he knew himself pretty well; that insight didn't do him any good when his darker impulses took over. He supposed he was more tired and in more pain than he would admit. Adding that to his doubts and anger about Brown, at the whole damn situation, and he was losing his center: losing control. Proof of that had been seeing Brown at the end of his knife blade.

Grey knew that he had no problem stepping out of line every now and then. He wasn't afraid to change course depending on the situation at hand; willing to take the flak for it later. But what he had done a moment ago, that went way beyond going a different direction, being a bit of a rebel. It was everything he hated about himself in shining neon for the entire world to see. When he got like this, felt himself slipping, that was when he relied on the restraint that Jonas or Mack would impose on him; restraint he could not impose on himself. Grey knew he had stepped over the line, he had damn well obliterated it, and whether Brown had lied to him or not, either he was under orders or not, it didn't matter because the problem wasn't Brown, maybe it never had been, the problem was him.

Moving quickly as if speed alone would banish the demons, Grey moved south, away from the camp; his black curly hair streamed away from his face as he walked into the breeze, his head up, chin jutting, eyes burring from the wind, or so that's what he tried to convince himself. "Some fresh air and a fresh perspective. That's what you need man." Grey said aloud as he searched the area for food and a change in his mood.

However, the further he went into the dense trees, the more he began to doubt his own judgment in putting so much distance between him and Brown. He was going in the opposite direction of where he knew he needed to be: near his injured teammate. While Brown was doing better his condition was precarious; Grey knew he had no business being out of earshot of the man. Nevertheless he kept moving forward and with each step Grey became more angry and disgusted with himself. Whether Brown had committed all the sins that Grey accused him of or not, he was still a brother; he didn't deserve to be abandoned.

Just as he was thinking of turning back, cursing himself for his stupidity, for wandering so far from camp, he suddenly found himself out of the trees in a clearing atop a hill. And at the bottom of the gentle descent in front of him was lay an Edenesque pool of glittering water.

All previous thoughts left Grey's mind and without thinking he hiked the few hundred yards to the small lake. He reached down and absently trailed his hand in the crystal clear cold water: the perfection of the scene overwhelming his senses. Needed to cleanse his soul as much as his body just then, Grey straightened up and undressed, dropping his clothes at the water's edge; plunged in, reveling in the freezing coldness that engulfed him.

Despite his self-flagellation over leaving Brown alone, Grey remained in the water for nearly half an hour, his strokes strong and sure as he traversed the lake; losing himself in the physical exertion until he felt soreness building in his muscles. At last, comfortably tired and washed free of the earlier stench of his own failure, he floated on his back starring up at the sky. "Steel blue... like deep water... cold water." He grinned wryly at an old memory of the only real vacation he ever had: the perfection of freediving.

Grey lazily crawled through the water back to where he had discarded his clothing and rose from its liquid embrace. Gathering his belonging he carried them a short way up the embankment to a grassy area and fell onto the lush ground. He lay there for drinking in the calm, admiring the scenery, the lake, the internal quiet. "Born part sea-mammal", he muttered to the clouds, thinking that it had to be true: water had always calmed him; always been a panacea for the wounds that the world had inflicted. "I need to see the ocean again; maybe spend some time learning about what's under the surface." Grey said; not sure if he meant the surface of the ocean or of himself.

Freediving was simple. A freediver relies on a single breath of air to explore the undersea world. Moving gracefully without wasting energy, a freediver can spend minutes underwater; experiencing the ocean as any other marine mammal does: become part of the environment, not just an observer of it. The key to freediving was being able to relax underwater, enjoy the inner exploration of sensations and personal limits. Charles Grey loved freediving because it made him feel part of a different world where he was new born again, independent and free... nothing to regret, not a care in the world.

A breeze blew up just then and chilled Grey's still damp skin bringing him out of his reverie. He quickly stood, shook his hair dry, toweled off with his shirt, and pulled on his clothes. With one last look at the lake he turned and sprinted up the slope away from the little piece of paradise he had found and towards the problems that he had left behind in camp.

In that hour before dusk, the forest quieted and the mountain that rose above the river grew from a myriad of greens to a blue-black blur. Except for the area around the lake and along the riverbed the land seemed endlessly forested. As he followed the river toward their improvised camp, the sky darkened: a change of weather. No sooner had he rejoined Brown that he sensed another change in the atmosphere as well, this one coming from his teammate. Brown was awake and followed Grey's movements with eyes both wary and weary, but didn't say a word. Even from a distance Grey could see that the man was tense. The past three hours of pain and solitude had taken their toll on Brown; God knows what additional damage had been done to their relationship while Grey had been floating and day-dreaming.

Grey approached Bob carefully, not sure of the reception he would receive; not sure of the reception he deserved. "How are you holding up, Bob?"

"I want to get out of here." Bob replied, his voice emotionless.

"In time. We'll sort it out a little bit later, when we have cooked and eaten what I brought" Grey said, holding up a rabbit that he had collected from one of the traps he had set earlier. "We'll both think better with a full belly. You'll start feeling better. I've found some valerian plants around. I'll make an infusion to ease the pain and to help you relax."

"Fine" Bob said dully. "I hate being like this." he added as an afterthought.

"I know, but, you are gonna pull through with your legs and arms intact, well mostly. You should be glad for that. It could have been a lot worse and you know it. You're doing well. I've saw a lot of trauma injuries as a medic, and I'm being straight with you, you're doing fine. You just need to be patient a couple more days for things to change for the better. You're already on your way there. You'll see. It might even give the team time to come and extract us themselves." Grey said, trying hard to undo some of the damage that he had caused earlier.

"And if nobody comes?" Bob asked.

"We'll, we're Special Forces and we'll just rescue ourselves then won't we? We'll follow the river 'til we find a location where the GPS picks up the satellite. Then we can use it either as a beacon to bring them to us or a guide to get out. I have an idea that will allow us to move quickly out of here. We just need to see your stitches are gonna hold up and figure out a way to bandage your leg to make it as water tight as possible. So, all you have to do is focus on being a good patient and making a quick recovery." Bob listened, but didn't say a word so Charles rolled up his sleeves to start skinning the rabbit, figuring at this point that so long as they weren't arguing that was an improvement.

It was then that Bob fixed his eyes on the black and blue marks that were visible on Grey's arms: no questions of their origin as the outline of finger marks were clearly defined. Seeing those marks a sudden memory flashed in Brown's mind of that first day when he had a death grip on Carlito's arms as he struggled to manage the panic and the pain that had been overwhelming him. There was the physical proof of just how weak he had been, how helpless. And while he was better than he had been, had a better handle on the pain, they reminded him that still, even now, he was basically helpless and completely reliant on Grey.

Suddenly Brown realized that during the past three days it was not only his wounds that had been treated and attended to. Grey had obviously tended to his more intimate and private needs as well. Bob knew that had to be the case, they had all been trained to provide battlefield and supportive care for comrades while awaiting evac, but he'd never been on the receiving end of that care. He knew he shouldn't feel ashamed or embarrassed by it, it was all natural and any shyness a guy might have is erased by the training and enforced closeness of their jobs. But as Carlito had said earlier, Bob was all about control and perfection, he didn't like weakness or the appearance of weakness, at least not in himself, and that was the ultimate in weakness. Yet Grey had said nothing; hadn't even tried to make a joke out of it. Despite his protestations earlier about not understanding Bob, on some level Grey did; he had known that for Bob the helplessness and the weakness were not something to be made light of. Seeing those bruises and knowing the care that Carlito had provided gave Bob some small hope that maybe, just maybe, they had a chance as finding a way to trust each other.

Brown strived to be seen as an open and sympathetic person, he learned early on that it served him well, even if it was at times a façade. But when it came to his mates, he was more interested in being seen as competent and motivated, always striving to be the best, always working to prove himself, always competing, often times only with himself and his own demons. He was used to people harboring suspicions or being envious, that just naturally came with success and getting the things that other people wanted or thought they deserved. And despite appearances, his successes hadn't come easy, but once he set his sights on a goal he did everything in his power to achieve it. Some people only saw the results, the achievements, and never saw the work, the pain, the sacrifice that went into getting there. Bob didn't care whether other's thought he hadn't earned his place, his position; he didn't do it for them, he did it for himself, for his family; or at least he had until he joined the Unit. Now he also did it for his brothers.

Yet, despite all his hard work and commitment Grey still doubted him: doubted his motivation, doubted his loyalty; even doubted his credentials and right to be in the Unit. And without knowing it, Grey was denigrating all the years of sacrifice that both Bob and Kim had gone through. Bob's success was a direct result of their commitment to each other and to reaching their goals, his goals . . . together. Kim might not be in the army, but she had as much to do with Bob being where he was as he had. She had been his rock and his world when he had no one else. She had fought the battles with him; some dearly won and at a high price.

And just as he needed Kim to always believe in him Bob realized that he needed Grey to believe in him as well; needed all of Alpha Team to believe. He needed Grey to have confidence that Bob considered his teammates to be his brothers, a different kind of family, and that he would sacrifice everything for them. He needed Grey to have faith in that; to trust in that.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: "Home Run" Zou's Edition - Chapter 8

**Original story by**: roomtable202

**Edited by: **Zou

**Fandom**: The Unit

**Disclaimer**: This is intended as a fan fiction, on characters owned by their original creators and I am not making a profit out of it.

**Note:** It was very exciting when Zou offered to review and edit the "Home Run" story. When I received the first chapters reviewed I've found Zou's editing so compelling that I thought it deserved a place of its own. I hope you all enjoy this terrific version of the original story as much as I do and let Zou know.

_

* * *

_

The Cave, present time

"They found them with the thermal imaging detector we installed in the civilian helo, Colonel." Stg. Kayla Medawar informed the moment that Colonel Tom Ryan entered the TOC. "We've got their position. Both are alive but one isn't moving much, which actually made it easier to identify their heat signatures as not wildlife. One of them is probably injured."

"Did they drop the bag? Have we been in contact yet? Ryan asked, waiting for a response from Kayla as she transmitted his question to the pilot and awaited the response.

"If we can, we need to use a small sightseeing chopper. We need to go for a discreet extraction." Ryan instructed a soldier manning another computer terminal, not waiting to see if he would carry out the orders and start the wheels rolling to get that done.

"Sir, we do have a rescue helo with a stretcher ready to go." The soldier replied, as he was sending out the request for the smaller civilian helicopter as instructed.

"Only if we absolutely need it: too flashy. We don't want the Canadians knowing that we were playing in their backyard without permission. Let's find out what the sitrep is on the ground before we have to involve any of the politicos. I've got enough trouble with the Washington brass already. If they can be exfiled by a civilian helo today, do it; if not, we'll have to reassess our situation and go for extraction tomorrow. They're alive and kicking, and have been so for 5 days, my guess is they'll be okay for a few more hours." Ryan explained.

"Yes, sir."

"Sir, I have Sergeant Grey on the line" Kayla said, interrupting Ryan's thoughts on how best to explain this snafu to the brass if need be.

Ryan reached for the headpiece, tapped the line open and started speaking.

_

* * *

_

Somewhere near Adhapapuskow, Canada

When the first helicopter had approached a few hours earlier Grey had been relieved. He had not been looking forward to having to implement his plan for getting him and Brown out of the forest. Then when he saw the supply drop he was thrilled since among other things he knew there would be a radio set to the correct frequency included. Grey had quickly relayed their information and agreed to the Colonel's plan that it was best to do the extraction with the small helo to keep this whole debacle from becoming an international incident.

By the time Grey heard the second helo approach, the one that would take Brown out, he had already fashioned a harness around his teammate using the remnants of their parachute harnesses. It wasn't optimal, but it was serviceable and with the weather turning gloomy and night about to fall getting the injured man out took precedence over everything else. It would be a quick extraction, but it wouldn't be pretty, or pleasant. Grey did a final check of the double harness he had crafted that would allow Brown to be winched out the clearing, while protecting his left leg as much as possible.

After speaking with Ryan it had been quickly decided that it didn't matter whether they sent in the smaller chopper that could not accommodate a stretcher or not since there was no maneuvering that could be done in their general area that would make using one safe. If Brown really needed to go out on a stretcher they would have had to land in the clearing near the lake that Grey had found and have men trek in and out carrying him. Any plan that kept fewer men on the ground for less time was definitely the best option and Grey had assured Ryan that Brown could tolerate the extraction via the winch.

Even knowing that it was going to be a civilian helo doing the extraction Grey was more than a little shocked at just how small the aircraft was when he saw the miniscule dot appear on the horizon, turning to follow the river to their location. It was a Bell helicopter that normally sat five, including the pilot, and that was a tight fit; it would barely have space for Brown and a medic, and even then it would not be comfortable with Brown's leg being more or less immobilized.

Seeing that the helo would be in place in a few minutes Grey moved briskly to Bob's side turning his head and quickly marking something on his forehead with a wax map pencil that he'd found in Brown's go-bag.

"Carlito! What are you doing?!" Brown asked, startled, trying to jerk his head away.

"I am marking you with a big M in your forehead." Grey stated.

"What!!! Why?"

"Standard medical procedure, bro. They need to know you're on morphine when they treat you. It's important so don't wipe it off." He explained.

"I haven't had morphine for two days. We don't have any morphine." Bob responded wondering if the stress had finally gotten to Grey and he was losing track of time.

"You will and we do. I kept some back just in case."

"You did?! You let me suffer like a dog when you had some?!!! You son of a-" Brown said in shocked disbelief.

"Just like the man said: 'In modern war... you will die or suffer like a dog for no good reason.'

"Did I just hear you quoting Hemingway? I must be already out of my mind."

"Stop the whining. Getting extracted like this is going to hurt like a mother, even for you, and we don't need you creating any trouble mid-air while they jump you in. That little mosquito doesn't have enough stability to stay aloft if you start moving around. You could end up kissing your old flames, the trees, and I don't think you want to test out the whole gravity theory again, do you? This is no Black Hawk, what they sent, I tell you. We're only going to get one chance to get you out and we can't risk something going wrong. Be glad I have it.

"I am. Thanks." Bob replied, pleased that Carlito had actually thought to withhold some of the drug for this exact scenario.

"Is the harness too loose? Too tight? Just right, Goldilocks?"

"You can tighten it up a bit here. I think this getup should work pretty well at keeping some of the pressure off my leg, thanks." Bob replied as he checked the straps as best he could from his supine position.

"Don't tighten it too much around that leg, don't overdue it. You need to keep a good blood flow going and it could be a couple of hours or more 'til you make it to a hospital. You'll be KO'd by the morphine most of the way there and I won't be around to keep an eye on you so let's be careful and not risk restricting your circulation. I don't know if they sent a real medic or just a corpsman with the helo so don't expect any medical attention until you land. Another good reason to be happy about the morphine."

"Cake walk. Don't worry."

"Ok, ok, ok... It's now or never. Ready? I'll give you the shot right away. Tilt a bit. Relax, relax."

"Ow! That stings!"

"Wimp! No pain no gain! Don't let yourself fall asleep until you are safely seated up there and the belt secured, just in case."

"Will do, mama."

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Man, this is... " Bob groaned, his eyes already going glassy and unfocused.

'You dizzy?"

"Yeah... Oh, man..," he panted heavily.

"Ride it. Ride it... You're OK, it's just a mild reaction. Your breathing feel OK? Hey! You hear me?" Grey asked, a little worried at how quickly the shot was taking effect this time but knowing there was little he could do for it.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... I hear you... I'm good... I'm good... Let's do it." Bob replied, his words slightly slurred.

"Bob, I hate to ask, but..."

"You ... don't need to ask... just tell me what..."

"When they winch you up, would you mind just holding on and not throwing up on top of me down here? It would be a bonus if you hold on long enough to give that little gift to the pilot for bringing in such a tin can to our rescue." Grey said in a light-hearted tone, the first real moment of levity he had felt in days; relieved to know that Brown would soon be someone else's responsibility.

"You are crazy, man..." Bob replied, a lop-sided grin on his face.

"Good luck, Bobby. I'll see you at home in a couple of days."

"I might even be able to buy you a beer then."

"Don't move now. I'll catch the hook and secure you. Be careful with the downdraft when they get you up. Here comes the hook. Good luck." Carlito yelled to be heard over the noise of the rotors as the helicopter hovered above the trees.

The helo's pilot did his best to keep the machine stationary, even as the approaching weather front began to buffet it. The second man dropped the cable to Grey who caught it and then staggered dangerously close to the rock face. Regaining his balance he clipped it onto Brown. He reached out putting his hand on Bob's shoulder and gave him a gentle shake before giving the soldier manning the winch the thumbs up to start pulling Brown up. The helo began rising even as Brown was being reeled up on the winch. Then as Grey watched, Brown looked down at him and even as dizziness threatened to tip him over on the cable he yelled down to Carlito, trying to make himself heard over the deafening noise.

"BETTY BLUE!!! I LEFT... SOMETHING FOR YOU... LOOK IN YOUR..." The broken pieces of what Brown was yelling drifted down to him.

"WHAT???"

"YOUR..."

"WHAT!!!!"

Then, the soldier manning the cable reached out and grabbed Brown, hauling him into the helo, whatever else the man was going to say was swallowed up. The helo hovered for a few more moments as Brown was secured inside. Then, with a final thumbs up from the winchman to indicate that all was well and the cargo safely onboard, it turned and quickly disappeared. Grey stood in the now quiet clearing, a smile on his face at a job well done. Not only was Brown on his way to safety, but due to the weather and nightfall, Grey knew that he would have time to pay a last visit to his own little piece of paradise by the lake before being extracted himself.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: "Home Run" Zou's Edition - Chapter 9

**Original story by**: roomtable202

**Edited by: **Zou

**Fandom**: The Unit

**Disclaimer**: This is intended as a fan fiction, on characters owned by their original creators and I am not making a profit out of it.

**Note:** It was so exciting when Zou offered to edit the "Home Run" story. Zou's editing is so compelling that it deserves a place of its own. Don't miss the intense changes on the last chapters. Enjoy yourselves and join me in thanking Zou by means of your reviews.

_

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_

The Cave, Col. Ryan's office. Present time.

Grey stood at attention before Colonel Ryan's desk; eyes focused on the wall just behind the man's head, waiting for the axe to fall as it surely would. He had been ordered to report to the Colonel as soon as his feet hit the tarmac, not that he hadn't anticipated it. Ryan hadn't said a word to him since he'd entered the office; the only sounds for the last five minutes being the ticking of the clock on the far wall and the shuffling of paper as Ryan reviewed a file on his desk. Finally, Ryan looked up from the sheaf of papers and stared at Grey: ice blue eyes unblinking - reptilian eyes.

"Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't kick your ass out of the Unit right now soldier?" Ryan demanded then continued without waiting for any answer; not that Grey had really intended to give him one. "You broke every procedure that we have; abandoned the mission objective; put a fellow team member in danger; and violated Unit protocol. Every single criteria we use as justification to toss candidates from selection and you managed to violate them all in one fell swoop. Do you have any explanation for your behavior soldier? Any justification at all?"

Grey remained silent; he knew why he had done it; knew that he was unwilling to lose another team member, not when he had a chance to save him. Even now, knowing that the whole thing was a ruse, he'd still jump after Brown, because ruse of not, all he had seen was a teammate in trouble; a preventable loss. He also knew that it was not an answer that would placate the Colonel so he stayed mute.

"I'm waiting soldier!" Ryan bellowed, rising to his feet to glare down at Grey from his superior height.

Grey shifted his eyes to meet the Colonel's and figured that if he was going down, he might as well go down with the truth. "Colonel, I have no excuse. I saw Brown fumbling with the grenade, it appeared to become tangled in his lines and then he jumped; headfirst, clearly trying to get distance between himself and the plane and I just reacted. I know we're supposed to treat every training mission like the real thing, but I guess I didn't see the necessity of losing a mate that way."

Ryan regarded him for a long time before finally speaking, his voice cold and deadly. "The whole idea of training missions is so that everything you do is done on a non-emotional level: second nature. And yet here you are telling me that your 'natural reaction' was to leap after a teammate and compromise an entire mission, maybe even put the rest of your teammates in danger because they would then be two men short rather than just one. What am I supposed to do with that soldier?"

Grey said nothing.

"I know that losing Williams was hard on all of you; that the two of you were friends. I'm not blind to such things. But you do your grieving in private soldier and do your damn job. There is no excuse for what you did. No excuse for putting all four members of the team in jeopardy and for killing the mission due to some sentimental feelings on your part. If every soldier who lost a buddy in battle decided that gave him free reign to disregard protocol we'd be in piss poor shape. It would have been a tragedy to lose Brown but that's a risk all of you take every time you go out; a risk he was willing to take even though he KNEW what the mission objectives where. What he didn't count on was one of his own teammates screwing with protocol and putting his life in danger by jumping after him and knocking him off course. If you hadn't done that soldier there's a good chance that Brown wouldn't be in the hospital right now; you better do some serious soul searching sergeant because you may be the reason that your buddy could be crippled for life." Ryan stopped for a moment to glare and let his last words sink in. "But right now all that really concerns me is how you'll react in the field on a real mission; will you make the same call and put everyone in jeopardy? Jonas and Mack are deployed right now and Brown is still too out of it to discuss this with; but your fate may ultimately come down to whether these men believe that they can trust you to have their backs. I know I wouldn't want you covering mine."

Grey flinched slightly, it wasn't the first time he'd been dressed down by a superior officer during his career, but to question whether Jonas, Mack and Bob had ultimately lost trust in him hit too close. The possibility that they might not believe he would protect them was the one thing that got through Carlito's defenses.

"So here's what's going to happen soldier. You WILL be restricted to base for 30 days, specifically to the Enlisted Men's Quarters. You will remain in Quarters except when you are on duty or during meals, which you will eat in the mess. You will NOT be deployed for a period of 90 days, therefore, no hazardous duty pay. You WILL report directly to me and I will personally decide what duty you will be pulling. You will be in uniform and you will NOT fraternize with any other members of the UNIT until I personally tell you otherwise. Is that clear, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Sir." Grey immediately responded.

"You are to report immediately to Lieutenant Mathers who will give you tomorrow's duty roster. You then have until 5pm to return to your apartment to pick up your gear and return to Quarters. Also, from now until further notice all of your communications will go through my office or the TOC. Leave your phone with me. Dismissed." Ryan stated, already turning back to other papers on his desk.

Grey crisply turned on his heel and left the office to go in search of Lieutenant Mathers.

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Gen_eral Hospital Ward. Two days later._

Light coming from the window woke Bob Brown. He felt warm and relaxed, and wasn't exactly sure where he was; expect he was certain it was not on the cold ground where he had spent an eternity. But wherever he was he wished the annoying beeping sound coming from somewhere over his head would stop so he could go back to sleep. He tried to ignore the sound for a moment longer and then gave up; slowly opening his eyes to the beautiful sight of Kim sitting beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm, her eyes huge; the smudges of fatigue under them making them an even more startling blue.

"Hey... Kim... I thought we were going home?"

"You are home, on the base, but you're still in the hospital. How are you feeling now?"

"I feel better... I don't remember much... How long..?"

"You've been here for three days. You've been in and out with fever and pain medication. That's why you don't remember. But you're doing OK, now. The doctors say you're healing well. You had a pretty nasty infection when you arrived and they had to go in and surgically clean up your leg. You've also been on some really strong antibiotics that have been a little tough on your system, but they don't expect any long term problems. It looked pretty bad when you came in, but you're going to be just fine." Kim said as she reached up with her other hand and cupped his cheek, rubbing her palm against the stubble there. She always did that when she was either comforting him or herself: a familiar, reassuring gesture from both of them.

"How are our three babies?" Bob asked softly, pressing his check further into her hand.

"They are just fine; anxious to see their Daddy home soon."

"And my big girl? You look tired Kim..."

"I'm fine. You scared me, but I'm fine now; just glad to have you here and well."

"Me too . . .you're my rock, my heart, you know that right?" Bob took her hand and kissed it, lost in her eyes.

Kim kissed him back on the lips and murmured a soft "Yes, and you're mine. I love you. I was so scared that I was going to lose you," her eyes filling with tears.

Bob reached a thumb to wipe away her tears. "No more than I love... you..." Bob flinched as a sharp stab of pain lanced through him.

"Bob? ... Are you in pain?"

"Some... Just a bit." Bob attempted a smile which turned to a grimace as the pain meds, anesthetic and powerful antibiotics caught up with him violently and with a groan he turned onto his side and was sick into a container Kim had quickly produced and held for him; rubbing his back soothingly until the heaving stopped. Wearily he flopped back onto the bed and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

"Sorry... That was not very romantic on my part." Bob croaked; his throat raw.

Kim put the container aside and then reached for a washcloth that was resting in a basin of water on the table near his bed, wrung it out and proceeded to gently wipe Bob's face with the cool cloth; a hint of a smile on her lips at his words. She returned the cloth to the bowl, rinsed it again then folded it and placed it on his forehead. "Just lay still and I'll go get the doctor.

"No. Don't call anybody. Not yet." He replied; then took a sip from a cup of water that Kim held to his lips.

"Lie back. They told me it was a normal reaction and it's not the first time this has happened in the past three days; you just didn't remember it before. But they told me that if you let the pain get ahead of the meds it makes it that much harder to control. Let me call them, I can see that you're hurting, babe." Kim pleaded her blue eyes full of worry.

"No, I don't want more meds. I need my head clear now. Kim, has Carlito... Charlie visited?"

"Charles? No, why?"

"We were together but we split."

"No, I haven't heard from him. Charles doesn't seem to be a favorite these days. I think the Colonel's angry with him about something. I think he's been restricted to base by the Colonel and he's moved into the Enlisted Men's Quarters. The word around the Unit is that your accident was his fault."

"Who says that?"

"Trisha told Tiffy who told me, but then Annette told me too. It's the scuttlebutt that's going around. Was it? Were you hurt because of him?"

"You know I can't comment on my job, but no, Kim, it was an accident, you can pass that scuttlebutt around. But I want to see him. Please tell him to come."

"I'll tell him, but I don't know if he'll come, Bob."

"Jonas, Mack?" Bob asked.

"Deployed. They came and they went before you even got back."

"Call Annie. I need to see Charlie. I'm sure he's in contact with her. It's important."

Kim's eyes became big then melted into a sad look. "Bob... Annie left."

"What!?"

"Annie left for Chicago this weekend and she's not coming back. She got scared."

"Scared of what?" Bob asked, clearly confused.

"Of all of it, of the possibility that Charles could end up like Hector; I kind of understand her. When Jonas and Mack came back but you and Charles didn't . . . ." Kim's voice broke slightly. "...she didn't want to know for sure. She left without knowing because then she could pretend that it was all normal; that they had simply broken up like thousands of other couples do every day. She couldn't handle the truth; she didn't want to know it."

Bob stared at her as she continued, "Look I didn't want to say anything before, but I think things are bad for Charles. He left a message for Molly asking her to make arrangements to have his stuff moved from his apartment into storage. He's moved into the Enlisted Men's Housing and he's been seen on base in ACUs. Then when Molly tried to call him back to get specifics about moving his stuff all she got was his voicemail stated that to reach him to call Colonel Ryan's office or the TOC. I guess his communications are being restricted as well; seems that the Colonel has him on a short leash. I'll make the call to the Colonel, but I'm not sure he'll let Charles can come see you, I'm sorry."

Bob's face was sweaty and grayish by the time Kim finished and a new wave of nausea overtook him again.

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	10. Chapter 10

**Title**: "Home Run" Zou's Edition - Chapter 10

**Original story by**: roomtable202

**Edited by: **Zou

**Fandom**: The Unit

**Disclaimer**: This is intended as a fan fiction, on characters owned by their original creators and I am not making a profit out of it.

**Note:** It was so exciting when Zou offered to edit the "Home Run" story. Zou's editing is so compelling that it deserves a place of its own. Don't miss the intense changes on the last chapters. Enjoy yourselves and join me in thanking Zou by means of your reviews.

_

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_

Two Days Earlier

As soon as Grey left Ryan's office he reported to Lieutenant Mathers, picked up his duty assignment for the next day and the order to report to the Enlisted Men's Quarters; then left the base as quickly as possible. He only had a few hours before his 30 day prison sentence started and he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Annie. He swung by his apartment, picked up his shaving kit, his ACUs, and the mail that had accumulated while he was gone. He didn't fail to notice the Past Due and Delinquent stamps on the outside of a number of the envelopes; he'd have plenty of time to worry about those later while he was stuck on base. He was a little surprised to find no message from Annie on his phone, but then again, as far as she was concerned he had simply been on deployment and he would contact her when he came back: like he always did. She had no way of knowing that this time had been different; that this time he hadn't been shot to hell, but his career may have been. He took one last look around the apartment, knowing that it would be the last time he saw the place; he couldn't cover the rent alone anymore, hadn't really been able to in a while, but he also couldn't imagine sharing the place with anyone else; ever seeing anyone but Hector coming out of that second bedroom: not even Annie. With a resigned sigh he pulled the door closed and quickly locked it: the sound of the deadbolt engaging felt like a rifle shot to his heart. This would always be the place that held some of the happiest memories of Hector; having to let it go was just one more goodbye he hadn't wanted to make.

Carlito didn't bother to call Annie, he knew at this time of day she would already be at work so he figured he would simply go surprise her at the Capri Isle; spend whatever time he could with her until he had to return to base. He needed to see her beautiful face and to tell her about the trouble he'd managed to get himself into and that he'd be out of contact for a little while. He knew he couldn't tell her the specifics, but she'd get the gist of it; she'd been a soldier herself after all. Grey knew that the gossip mill worked pretty fast around the base and she would soon know that he was back, if she didn't already, and if he didn't talk to her she could and likely would jump to all sorts of wild conclusions. He didn't want her to think that anything bad had happened to him, at least not physically, or that he had simply dumped her

While it wasn't yet 5pm and duty hours on base were not over, there was still a regular number of civilian clientele that were already at the bar when Charlie arrived. He recognized many of the cars and though that perhaps that was not a good sign; his social life really needed to expand beyond this place; but Annie was here so where else would he want to be? Maybe he should try to convince Annie to look for a better job, he mused as he pulled into a vacant parking space near the street. She was bright and he had no doubt that she could find something that didn't mean she had to surround herself with drunks and guys with wandering hands. Grey smiled a bit to himself as he realized just how proprietary that sounded. Annie was former military and if anyone could keep these guys in line it was her; if he ever suggested that she look for a kinder, gentler profession he could only guess as what her opinion of that would be.

It wasn't until he had parked and was almost to the weather-beaten front door that Grey realized that he hadn't seen Annie's car in the parking lot. It gave him pause for a moment and then he figured it was possible that she'd had car trouble, again, and proceeded inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lights and the haze of cigarette smoke; as soon as his vision cleared he scanned the room for Annie: she was nowhere in sight. Grey proceeded to the bar and asked the guy behind it, absently polishing glasses, where Annie was. Grey didn't recognize the guy, but that didn't mean anything, personnel were always changing in the place. The guy eyed him for a moment, hung the glass from the rack above his head and said "Not here."

"Where is she, out back? Stocking?" Grey asked, not in the mood to play twenty questions with this guy. He was on a time schedule and he wanted to see his girl.

"She quit. Saturday was her last day." Dude said, then moved to the end of the bar to fill the drink order that the waitress was putting in.

Grey watched the guy walk away; then scanned the bar for someone who could give him a more complete answer. He looked around until he saw another waitress that he recognized and moved in her direction. "Hey Roxy, you seen Annie?" he asked as he approached her.

Roxy turned to him and her over mascaraed eyes instantly filled with pity upon seeing who had addressed her. "Oh, Charlie, I'm so sorry. I thought she'd told you. Annie left on Sunday for Chicago. She moved home. She said that she'd had enough of the Army life, and was going to make a fresh start there….closer to family. You know how it is?" she said, placing a hand on his arm: red fingernails like talons against his skin.

The news hit him like a punch to the chest. She'd left: without a word, without a note. She'd left to be "close to family." He'd loved her and she hadn't felt enough for him to leave him a god damn message on his voicemail. He stared at Roxy for a moment; reached for his wallet pulling out a few twenties; then tossing them on her tray said "Beer, with a whiskey chaser, and keep 'um coming." Then he sat at the nearest vacant table; determined to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible in the time he had left before his captivity began.

Grey had made a fool of himself in this bar on more occasions than he really wanted to remember; it was after all the purpose of getting sloshed with your buddies after all; testosterone poisoning he'd once heard an old girlfriend call it. But his buddies had always been there to protect him from doing anything too monumentally stupid and to drag him home when it was time to call it a night; a favor he had returned in kind on many evenings. But he'd never felt like more a fool than he did right now. But the one thing that Charles Grey was really good at was hiding, so instead of leaving and finding some place to lick his wounds he stayed at the scene of the crime and drank; never giving any hint of the pain that was shredding his soul. He might lose his position in the Unit, the respect and trust of his teammates, but he'd convinced himself over the past hour or so that he could survive it all because Annie and he would find a way to make it bearable. What an idiot he'd been to believe in that fairytale. He should have known better. She was gone and everything she symbolized was gone with her: there was no safe harbor.

At 4:30 p.m. Grey pushed himself up from the table and made his unsteady way to the telephone in the back hall by the men's room. He fished in his pocket for some change and then dialed the number that had been written on the wall next to the phone. The cab arrived fifteen minutes later and he stumbled into it tossing the items he'd retrieved from his car; he'd worry about it later, if at all. He arrived at the Enlisted Men's Quarters at 4:59 p.m.

Grey managed to hang his uniforms in the closet and dump the rest of his belongings on the desk before dropping onto the bed, fully clothed to wait out the rest of the night. As he lay there he thought of the past few hours at the Capri Isle, and those few hours of loneliness and solitude amplified until they filled not only the next 30 days, but his entire future. He was alone again, without Annie, the only person he thought of as his family; or at least the only person he imagined building a future with. As he lay there in the dark he tried to convince himself that leaving was the best thing for Annie; that he should be happy for her to have found the courage to move forward with her life: not just be a part of his. He tried to convince himself that he didn't want her to become just another "Unit Wife or Girlfriend"; but he knew it wasn't true. He's watched Molly and Kim and even flaky Tiffy, and he saw that each one somehow managed to find a way to live within the restrictions of the Unit and still provide a home and comfort for the men they loved; worried about them when they were gone and rejoiced in their return.

Grey had loved Annie, still loved her: freely, unconditionally, something he never thought he'd ever do. She was the only women that made him reach for and find new feelings inside himself; willingly made himself vulnerable. She had made everything in his life seem more real; his emotions more raw; maddening as that sometimes was. Since meeting her he had felt complete for the first time in . . . well, forever. When she was near all he wanted to do was loose himself in her embrace, bathe himself in her spirit; bury his face in her hair and breathe the essence of her soul. He'd actually been dreaming of a future with her; clearly she didn't have the same dream. He thought for a moment of trying to contact her, convince her to come back, but that thought vanished almost as quickly as it came. No, what little self-respect he still had, which arguably wasn't much right now, he'd hang onto. He would not go crawling after her; he would hold on to that much of himself: even if he lost everything else.

The days passed slowly with a monotony that during any other time would have had Grey ready to tear his eyes out; but he simply didn't care anymore and lost himself in the sameness of every day. Each day bleed into the next, each the same; secluded in the Quarters or doing endless and deathly boring scut work from well before dawn to dusk; a quick meal at the mess; then back to his Quarters: no more. He knew that Ryan was trying to teach him something; or maybe Ryan, who Grey suspected knew absolutely everything of what happened related to the people under his command, wanted to keep him busy, either way it didn't matter. Grey spoke as little as possible to anyone and focused on the job at hand, eating and sleeping just enough; quietly folding every feeling he'd had for Annie, for the Unit, for his teammates away until there was no chance of being hurt by whatever else was thrown his way.

Then, without really noticing, 30 days had passed. Ryan called him into his office and informed him that he would be returning to the Unit. He would still not be deployed for at least 60 days, and that would still depend on his teammates, but he would be expected to participate in training and mission prep, as well as duties in the TOC. Ryan told him that he was no longer restricted to base, but it didn't matter anymore as he had nowhere else to go. Molly had done as he'd asked and had efficiently contacted movers and some of the FRG and they had packed up his belongings and had it all waiting for him in storage. He'd just leave it for now; he was doing fine in the Enlisted Men's Quarters. He didn't need any of those things; he'd deal with them later.

Grey thought that he had weathered his emotional storm during the past 30 days of relative isolation: he was wrong. He was free to leave base, meet up with friends, even Bob if he wanted, although he wasn't sure what sort of welcome he would receive there, so instead, in a moment of pure masochistic self-emollition he got in his Wrangler and drove to the Capri Isle. He knew she wouldn't be there; knew that seeing the place without her in it would rip the scab off all the emotional wounds that had only just stop bleeding; he did it anyway. In some pathetic part of his brain Grey knew that he was holding out some crazy hope that he'd walk into the place and there she would be: waiting for him.

Bob had passed most of the last thirty days lost in the company of his wife and kids. He also spent hours every day in rehab working to get his leg back in shape. In just the last few days he'd also gone to the range and done a little desk duty at the TOC. Those first few weeks had been the worst and he hadn't shared his fears that he wouldn't make it back to 100%; hadn't told Kim that the doctors had all but prepared him for that eventuality; he didn't need to, she knew: she always knew. But he'd fought through the pain and the fear and made the damn leg do every exercise as ordered. Then at home he'd do them again and again until he was exhausted and his muscles could take no more. Some nights Kim had joined him in the shower to hold him up when his leg threatened to fold under him. They'd clung to each other; as they always did, and slowly things improved. This morning the doctor had finally said out loud what he had only hinted at before; he'd admitted that he'd never actually expected Bob to recover; he guessed that the wound wasn't as bad as it had looked after all: Bob smiled and said nothing.

During that time he had not spoken to Grey. Despite Kim's request to Ryan, Grey hadn't been allowed to come see him while he was in the hospital. When Bob was finally discharged he'd decided it was best not to push the issue; the Colonel was not known for his flexibility. Whatever was going on with Grey, Bob didn't figure he could do him any good by pissing off the Colonel. Two weeks after his return home Ryan called him in for a meeting. The debrief was short and easier than he expected; Ryan had apologized about the mission going wrong, asked if Grey jumping had adversely affected his jump; Bob had answered that he didn't think so, and listened intently as Bob reported what little he remembered of his time in the woods. Bob chose his words carefully, he stuck to only the facts and left the emotions and allegations that had been volleyed between he and Grey on the forest floor where they belonged.

Whatever issues he and Carlito had, it was no business of Ryan's. Whether it could be fixed or not, was between the two of them and no one else. Bob had tried to make the point that Grey had probably saved his life, or at least his leg, but he got the impression that Ryan wasn't' interested and had tuned out of the conversation by then. Ryan thanked him again for taking on the clandestine mission; said he was glad that he'd be returning to full duty and dismissed Bob. He stood outside the Colonel's office feeling that too much had been left unsaid.

Bob had heard through the ever efficient grape line that Grey was no longer restricted to Quarters and had been reinstated on active duty status with the Unit. Bob stopped in The Cave where the guys often shared a beer at the end of the day hoping to find him there; the room was empty. He asked a few of the soldiers and guards he passed in the hallway and no one reported having seen Grey that day. He was glad to learn that to the contrary of what Kim had reported to him in the hospital, he couldn't detect any hard feelings directed towards his teammate; while there may have been some gossip among the staff among the people that mattered, no blame seemed to have been cast. Bob was relieved.

Bob sat in the Cave for a while; an unopened bottle of beer in his hands. He wished that Mack and Jonas weren't still deployed as he could use some advice; or maybe not; maybe this was something that he and Grey needed to work out just between them. He sat for a while longer reflecting on his relationship with the man since he'd joined the Unit. He remembered with some affection the "happy Carlito" that he had seen in Israel; before it had all gone to hell. After that Carlito had changed, he'd trained with the team but afterwards he hadn't stayed to hang out with the guys; at least not like before. Grey liked a beer as much as the next guy, but Brown had noticed that Carlito's drink of choice had changed to whiskey on the rocks, which he'd nurse, one after another, until he'd eventually crash in the ready room until he was sober enough to make his way back to his apartment. The guys had given up offering him a lift home as he always said there was no rush and he was fine where he was. For weeks he became quieter and more taciturn; he laughed less; smiled less: just diminished. Bob hadn't thought too much of it at the time as everyone had their moments; everyone grieved in his own way.

Then, a few weeks after their return he's gone into the ready room to pick up a book he'd left there only to find Grey on the floor; wedged in the impossibly small space between the wall and the old battered desk that had been crammed into the room for them to use for late night study sessions. His compact frame was folded, his forehead touching his knees; arms locked around his calves; completing the image of having forced himself into an invisible box only he could see. Bob remembered having a visceral reaction to seeing Carlito like that; recognized instantly the behavior as a mirror of himself some fifteen years prior; recognized a body seeking safety and protection, that could not be found in the real world, in the artificial embrace of inanimate objects.

Grey's despondency had lasted a couple of weeks until Jonas had somehow managed to reach in and pull Grey to safety; something that even Hector hadn't been able to do at the time. Bob had no idea what Jonas had said or done, but he wasn't here and if Grey was drifting back to that same dark place; the same comforting numbness, there was no one else to reach him. Bob didn't feel responsible for the uncontrolled chain of events that Grey had unleashed with his reckless decision to freefall after him, his own injuries included, but Bob truly felt for him at the loss of Annie. Bob had seen how Grey had grown to love her after their hesitant start. This time Bob would make the leap and rescue Carlito from his own emotional freefall.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**Title**: "Home Run" Zou's Edition - Chapter 11

**Original story by**: roomtable202

**Edited by: **Zou

**Fandom**: The Unit

**Disclaimer**: This is intended as a fan fiction, on characters owned by their original creators and I am not making a profit out of it.

**Note:** It was very exciting when Zou offered to review and edit the "Home Run" story. When I received the first chapters reviewed I've found Zou's editing so compelling that I thought it deserved a place of its own. I hope you all enjoy this terrific version of the original story as much as I do and let Zou know.

* * *

After checking all the places on base that Grey might be Bob finally decided to try a few locations off base; given that Grey had been confined to the facility for the past 30 days it was logical that he'd want some time away. Bob racked his brain to remember places he'd heard Grey talk about in the past and realized that he knew very little of how or where the man spent his off duty time. Since Grey no longer had his apartment the only place Bob could think to look was the Capri Isle; although he couldn't imagine why Grey would go back there now that Annie was gone. He drove there anyway. When he turned into the parking lot Bob was more than a little surprised to see Grey's Jeep; a glazing of ice coating the windows indicating that it had been there for some time.

He parked and carefully made his way over the slippery pavement to the battered front door: not missing in the least his bachelor days when he spent far too much time in places like this. He pulled open the door and was hit with a wave of smoky warm air as he stepped inside. Brown did a quick recon of the main room, saw no sign of Carlito; then moved on to the private rooms and the men's room. Still found no sign of his quarry. Returning to the main bar Bob approached the bartender and asked the man if he'd seen Grey; receiving a negative nod. Thoroughly confused Bob went back out into the cold night, looking for any signs of his teammate: finding none.

Finally, Bob decided to do a perimeter check just to be certain that he hadn't missed anything, although for the life of him he could not imagine why Carlito would be anywhere outside in this weather. The only scenario that Bob could fathom, and not one he liked, was that Grey had met with some foul play, maybe got drunk and got rolled. Bob sincerely hoped that wasn't the case as Grey had clearly had his share of troubles of late and didn't need to add insult to injury. He had just rounded the corner to the back of the building and entered the small alley used for trash pickup and deliveries when he spotted his prey.

Bob had been on enough missions with Carlito that even in the dim light coming from the one weak bulb by the back door he recognized the compact figure seated against the dirty wall. As he'd seen the man do so many times before Grey had managed to wedge himself into an impossibly small space between the stairs and a stack of wooden crates; knees up; arms resting on bent legs; head resting against the damp bricks. But this time instead of a gun in his hands he was limply holding a bottle of what Bob guessed by its size was hard liquor, probably Whiskey. While to a casual observer Grey may have looked relaxed Bob knew different; saw the tenseness in the muscles; knew that the man was anything but tranquil.

Bob had arrived at the bar with the express purpose of rescuing Grey, but now, standing at the entrance of the alley filled with shadows and littered with trash and other debris, a part of him resisted moving further into the crude circle of light and pain that Carlito was bathed in. Instead he stood for a while, just watching, trying to decide how to break the silence, when Grey's voice broke the quiet.

"Welcome back, Bob. I didn't hear you limping into the alley, guess you recovered okay." Grey's said, emotionlessly.

Bob noted that Carlito's words were slurred, which from his prior experience with the man meant that he'd had quite a lot to drink. "I was just released from rehab and I'm back on full duty tomorrow. My leg's fine. I owe you." Bob answered as he carefully maneuvered around some empty beer cases and moved farther into the alley.

"Nobody owes anything to anyone in the Unit. It's our business. That's our way. You should know by now. What do you want, Brown?" Grey inquired, taking a long pull from the bottle he held; wiping the back of his hand across his mouth when some of the liquid escaped down his chin.

"Just checking up on a buddy." Bob replied in a calm tone, still trying to gauge Grey's mood. When the seated man said nothing, he continued. "I knew you were off restrictions; wanted to see how you were doing. Sorry that Ryan came down so hard on you. I had my debrief today. I told him that you probably saved my life, or at least my leg." Still no reaction. "I heard about Annie and the apartment; figured you could use a friend; some company. Whatever you need." Bob finished, growing more unsure of himself by the moment, wondering if he had really misjudged the situation and was only making things worse.

"Thanks. Seems you did enough then. You can go now. I don't' need anything." Grey said, taking another drink and staring into the darkness.

Bob shivered at the coldness in the air and the deadness of Carlito's voice. "Okay, well at least let me give you a lift home. Not exactly a balmy night to be sitting in these scenic surroundings. Also, you're in no condition to be driving. How 'bout it?" Bob asked.

"No, man, I'm just fine here. If I need to I can go back inside. Thanks. You can leave now." Grey replied, not bothering to voice the fact that now that his apartment was gone he really had no "home": no place he needed or wanted to be. All of his belongings were packed in storage and he had yet to even start figuring out new living arrangements.

Bob didn't believe for a minute that Carlito would go back inside if he left; no way was he abandoning his very intoxicated teammate out in the cold: literally and figuratively. Now he just had to figure out how to break through the walls that Grey kept throwing up. "Look I'm sorry about being part of Ryan's plan, but what choice did I have? I don't feel good about what happened or how Ryan came down on you. It's not fair, none of it was fair." Bob's voice trailed off. He again waited for Grey to join into the conversation and when the man remained silent just staring at the bottle in his hands, Bob felt his patience slip. "Now, you have nothing to say? You had plenty to say when I was sick and stoned. Now suddenly you have no opinion on anything?" Bob said in frustration. "Tell me what I could have done different without violating orders. Help me out here, because I'm at a loss to figure out how I could pass whatever test it is you think I failed." Bob demanded.

"Hindsight …"

"What?"

"Hindsight. Bob, the 'what if' game never works….none of it's important now. Just go and leave me alone. This is my free time; I want to be on my own now. I don't want to talk. I don't want to think. I don't want to feel. I'll see you when I see you." Grey replied, his words becoming more indistinct by the minute.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"OK! If you won't go then I will. No trouble. I can find another crappy alley to sit and relax. There's plenty around. I'm much too drunk to drive or to enjoy fighting with you."

"This isn't about hindsight, this is about us figuring out a way to get past whatever it is that keeps you from believing I'm one of you; keeps you from trusting me. We don't have to work out anything tonight; I promise I won't ask any more questions. Just trust me for once and come with me. You can crash out on the couch for as many nights as you need. No hassles. I'm not leaving you here. Just come home with me, please? "Bob pleaded.

"Where? To your perfect home? Where your perfect Kim could patronize me with her sweet disapproving eyes?" Grey responded, not noticing the flash of fire that lit Brown's eyes at the harsh words he'd directed at Kim.

Bob took a deep breath, reminding himself that Grey was drunk and not really aware of what he was saying; at least he hoped that was the case. "Okay, if you really don't like the idea of sleeping on our couch, then let me take you to the Ready Room or back to the BEQ. I'll bring your Jeep over later."

Grey's shoulders visibly sagged, "Not like this. I don't want Kim and the kids to see me like this. It's not right." He said, answering Bob's earlier question, the alcohol having clearly slowed down his responses. His voice was softer, less bitter, than a moment ago but he still didn't sound like himself. There was a sadness; a weariness in his voice that could not be missed. "Sorry about what I said before about Kim, I-"

"No place for "sorry" in the Unit either, you should know better. Let's go home." Bob said, letting his earlier irritation float away as he could not help but feel for the hurting man before him.

"Yeah."

Bob moved forward to help Grey up then abruptly stopped when he realized that the affirmative response had been to his statement about "sorry" and not about coming home with him.

Grey stayed seated on the icy pavement; staring up at Brown, seeking out his eerie whisky-colored eyes in the half-light; locking on to them; Brown returned his gaze levelly. Then he began speaking with the intense solemnity that only drunks possess.

"Even among the lowest scum of the earth you'll find powerful words defending high moral grounds, Bob. You asked back there what I believe in."

Caught off guard by the non-sequitor Brown tried to fathom where Grey's inebriated brain was taking them now. "I've heard you say more than once: hate the game, don't hate the player."

"You know, this might be the only game I know and it's probably going to get me or one of my mates killed one of these days: oops it already did. The Washington brass doesn't give a damn. All they care about is plausible deniability and covering their ever-widening asses while they look for their next promotion or political appointment. It's all just sport to them; we're just pieces on the board to be moved around. We're not even human, just disposable parts. Everything we do: none of it happens; we were never here." Grey said as he methodically peeled the label off the almost empty bottle that he still held.

"I don't understand?" Bob replied, trying to figure out where Grey was going.

"You're part of that game, Bob. You're not just a player."

"That why you hate me?" Bob questioned.

"There's more to you than meets the eye. I'm not stupid: I can see that. I don't know all what you did for the Army, I know what you've told me, but I don't know what to believe. But I do know that you had something going on with the CIA; maybe still do. I know that you didn't share everything that went on when they were trying to destroy us. While the rest of us were being interrogated you were being recruited; and you said nothing. When Jonas and I were running for our lives; Hector in jail; Mack being tortured, you were safe and protected by the CIA. In my book that makes you a part of the game not just a player. You fly solo too often, Bob. A team plus one. That's what pisses me off. It pisses me off..."

Bob said nothing, just let Grey continue to vent, knowing that right then no matter what he said it would not make a difference. There was no point in telling Carlito that Bob had spent two weeks leading the CIA on a merry chase, doing his best to keep them as far off Jonas' trail as he could. He would have continued to draw them away as long as possible except that Grey had spotted him and brought him to Jonas. Grey wasn't ready to listen yet.

"See, Bobby? You don't get it! You're tall and good-looking. You've got an education. You're a friggin' boy scout, an idealist: righting wrongs, saving the world. You don't need to be here in the mud with us. We're disposable; nobody cares about us. Nobody wants to even know that we exist. But you're different: special. You were the only one they thought worth saving when the CIA was ready to kill off the rest of us".

Bob watched as Grey continued talking, not sure if he was even aware of Bob's presence any longer or if he was just railing to the air; not really appearing angry at Bob so much as the injustice of the situation. Then, as if reading his thoughts Grey turned to face him again and locked gazes.

"I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about the team. The brotherhood: the guys that will surround you and keep you afloat even when you're up to your neck in shit; who'll die for you. That's something real, something you can rely on. Once in, never out." Grey paused for a moment before continuing in a gentler tone. "You're in, you're good. You know that. But, sometimes I look at you and this primal instinct in me tells me that you aren't part of the brotherhood. I know you'd kill for me Bob, but would you die for me? I just don't know…..do you? Don't know what you stand for; who you stand with. There's just too many questions surrounding you; too many secrets."

"Carlito, I- I... I know I'm pretty foggy on what happened for most of the time we were in the forest, but I know this; you took care of me; not just as a medic; but as a mate. I saw the bruises I left on your arms. I know I put them there. I've never experience anything like that pain and you helped me work through it. You did more than save my leg; you probably saved my career. And while you may not have trusted me out there; You never let it get in the way."

Grey said nothing so Bob continued. "You've been straight with me and I've tried to be straight with you. I don't know what more I can tell you. What more to say to make you believe that I'd sacrifice everything for my brothers. Whether you believe it or not, I would die for you; for any of you." Bob had never voiced those words before, and while true he was a little sad to realize that he would willingly leave his family behind to save one of his mates. "I'd like us to be friends. I think with time we can be, but right now, all I want is help you get through this tough patch. I know I'm not the guy that you wish was here; I'm truly sorry for that: I miss him too. But I'm here: I'm not leaving you alone in this alley, or anywhere else, to go through whatever it is you're going through. You can cuss me out, yell at me, even throw a punch if it makes you feel better, but we're mates and until I know you're okay I'm staying by your side!" Bob finished, his chest heaving as the adrenaline of his emotional outburst caught up with him.

Grey just stared at Brown, then suddenly the tension seemed to evaporate from his body and he slumped forward: mesmerized with the accumulation of trash near his feet. "So what was the paper that I found in my go-bag about? A peace offering? A goodbye note?" Grey asked remembering how surprised he had been to find the crumpled note in his bag upon his return from their unscheduled camping trip. The handwriting had not been Bob's usual precise script; the fever and damage to his hands clearly affecting his fine motor skills, but it had been legible nonetheless:

_Robert Davis Brown, 2nd Cavalry, "Toujours Prêt", Air Cavalry, Military Intelligence, Joint Service Special Action Force._

There had been no dates or times, but it was the last two items that had caught Grey's attention. He hadn't known that Brown had been attached to any MI unit, was sure that Jonas would have mentioned it if he had since their team leader had an almost pathological mistrust of Intelligence gathering units and agencies. Grey suspected that if it was true, and his gut told him it was, it wasn't listed in the version of Brown's file that Jonas had seen. His gut also told him that the Colonel knew and had purposely kept quiet about it. The notation about a joint service special action force had also piqued his curiosity as he suddenly recalled having seen the Joint Service Commendation ribbon on Bob's uniform during Hector's funeral. He'd wondering about for all of half a second before he returned to grieving his friend; then it passed from his mind until he saw that notation. There was also a Bronze Star with Valor that he knew nothing about.

As he had held that note Grey had the distinct impression that he might have misjudged Brown; the problem was that based on this new information he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He had burned the paper, not wanting anyone to accidentally find it and then proceeded to Ryan's office for his dressing down; not knowing what to do with the new information he'd been offered. Bob's voice broke into Grey's musings and he focused on that the man was saying.

"It was stupid of me to have written that down; I needed you to know that I'm for real. I earned my way here just like all of you. If there are things that I can't talk about, won't talk about, that makes me no different than the rest of you. I won't lie to you and tell you that my past is an open book; I can't answer all your questions, but you can be sure of this: I'm not a fake; I'm not a plant; I'm not CIA or NSA or any other part of the alphabet soup. I'm a shooter just like you." Bob stopped for a moment to see if Carlito was listening before continuing in a quieter voice.

"I've made some decisions in the past that I wish I hadn't, but I'm not making excuses and I'm not asking for forgiveness. And no matter what you may think of me I'm no fake, Carlito."

"How can you say you're not part of the alphabet soup? You were MI? And what exactly was this mysterious Joint Service Special Action Force? This doesn't sound like you were "just a shooter" to me." Grey questioned.

Bob was quiet for a long moment, rubbing his hands up and down his arms trying to warm himself as he contemplated what more he should say; could say. "Look, MI is not nearly as romantic, exciting or clandestine as it sounds. I mostly did a lot of listening in on conversations. How do you think I ended up with four languages? I wasn't James Bond or anything. A lot of it was pretty boring." Bob said, purposefully leaving out any indication that the times it had not been boring it had been terrifying and exhilarating and a rush. "The Joint Service Action Force was something that I was picked for because of my shooting skills. My CO recommended me. I was part of a multi-national; multi-service team that provided overlook for various operations in various AOs. Where SF provided the clandestine protection we provided the uniformed version, although we were rarely if ever seen; would have defeated the purpose. We were not attached to any specific unit and were available for call up by any member of the multi-national force. We had no official designation so I can't prove what I'm saying; I guess I'm asking for your trust on this again. That's why no one in my Unit remembers me very well; why no one remembers the "rock star" as you said. They didn't know about it; they didn't see it. I was just another unremarkable grunt to them."

Grey looked at Brown, his skepticism clear on his face.

Suddenly Bob's eyes widened and he said, "Wait, you were a medic at the battalion aid station for rescue missions in Kosovo, right?"

"Yeah" Grey said clearly wondering where Bob was going with this line of questioning.

"Then maybe you heard this story. If you did, you'll know that I was there too. It involves a medic in your same unit.

"We were assigned to three snipers teams to provide overlook on the main street, covering the killing ground for the UN troops to pass through. We'd been there for two days trading off shifts when two field ambulances were attacked by ground fire and hit with a Claymore. Air medevac was called and they came most ricky tick. They got everyone moved to cover pretty quick and we kept up cover fire; looked for the shooters who were hiding in the surrounding buildings trying to pick off anyone who moved, including the medics. But there was this girl with a injured leg and her arm pinned under a chunk of the side panel of one of the ambulances that had blown off. She was bleeding heavily and was pretty much in the middle of the street with no protection. Two medics had tried initially to get to her but kept getting pinned down by sniper fire so they went for the other wounded. Under heavy fire from both the street and the snipers they dragged five out of what was left of the ambulances. We did our best to lay down cover fire and somehow no one was hit during that evacuation and exfil.

We saw the chopper lift off and figured the girl had been left on her own as it would be suicide for anyone to go out into no-man's land after her. Then suddenly the two medics were back; they hadn't left with the chopper. I remember watching them huddle behind some cargo truck that looked like Swiss cheese, wondering why there were back. The firefight was still going on between the UN troops and various factions, the damn street was a shooting gallery. At first we thought that they were pinned down so provided more cover fire, but instead of heading away from the kill zone one of the crazy bastards started moving into it; dodging behind burned out cars and whatnot almost as if he wanted to draw fire. Then the other medic broke cover and ran into the middle of the damn street for the girl; covering her with his own body when he reached her. He reached tried to free the girl's arm but evidently she was stuck somehow and started screaming.

The shooting actually lessened for a couple of seconds then, I think both sides of the street were mesmerized by the suicidal heroics. It was quiet enough that even from where we were we could hear the girl pleading with the guy not to move her arm. It was clear that he couldn't get her free for some reason and then he reached over picked up a piece of metal from the ground, then without warning he slammed it into the girl's arm twice. I remember hearing the bone crack even from my location and the girl let out a scream that raised the hairs on my neck. By that time the other medic had joined his buddy as a sitting duck and I think even he was shocked because I heard him yell "MY GOD, man!!!" I think the girl had passed out by then because she had stopped yelling. The first guy twisted the girl's arm around at an odd angle and somehow managed to pull her free.

That's when the shooting really started up again. My teammates laid down cover fire and was picking off individual shooters. All we could do for those poor bastards was hope they hauled ass out of the kill zone. They had almost made it clear when someone started tossing out grenades. They hunkered down in near that cargo truck again and were pretty much pinned down. Murphy's Law was in force and just then and the girl evidently regained consciousness and started screaming again; giving away their location. She got quiet again pretty quick so I suspect someone jabbed her with some morphine or knocked her out, but the damage was done. Their position was made; they were the prime targets again. Bullets were coming from every direction at those guys; rounds were ricocheting off of everything: our rounds, their rounds. It was like a munitions factory had exploded out there. But they stood their ground and protected the girl. They didn't even react as the windows right above their head on the truck blew out and covered them with glass. They just kept working on the girl's leg which looked to be hemorrhaging.

From our vantage point we could see that shooters were closing in on their position and while we were damn good, they far outnumbered us. We weren't going to be able to hold them off. We'd had no radio contact with the medics as it wasn't protocol to break radio silence and give away our location, but my team leader decided that it was time and called down to them and told them that they needed to haul ass. I was focused on taking out as many of the advancing bodies as I could; making sure no one started taking potshots at the new medevac chopper that was coming in and still looking for the yahoo with the grenades. The next thing I saw was one of the medics, I think the guy who had purposefully drawn fire earlier, running towards the chopper with the girl; the other guy basically providing a human shield with his own body. They were a few hundred feet from the chopper when I saw a shooter come out of a doorway and take a bead on the second medic; I took him out just as he fired; his shot went wide and hit the ground just to the left of its target. Last I saw they were tossing the girl into the helo and barreling in after her. Then they got out of Dodge.

I never knew who those guys were, but I'm sure when they got back to your battalion they had one hell of a story to tell. You must have heard it. Is that enough proof that I was there? That what I've told you is the truth; that I'm not a CIA plant?

Grey stared in astonishment at Bob for a long time before whispering "That was Hector and me."

Bob's eyes widened in shock "Shit" the only words he was able to form. "And you were the one who broke the girl's arm to free her?" Bob said, just knowing that of the two Grey would have been just nuts enough to pull off such a stunt to save the girl.

"Yeah. Like you said."

Bob nodded thoughtfully at the revelation that he had effectively saved Carlito's life long before they ever met. Then he smiled and said, "Then according to Chinese legend since I saved your life I'm now responsible for you. Now let's go home, you don't look so hot."

"I'm good" Carlito mumbled in reply. "Just got a lot on my mind now, Bob; I'm handling it the best I can. I don't need your help."

Bob sighed in frustration; tired of going in circles with Carlito. "Okay, if you don't want my help how about someone else. Have you got anyone I can call to help you? Family?"

"Not anymore, apparently." Grey responded to the pavement.

"Not true, I am here, bro." Bob said, stepping forward and reaching his hand down to help Grey to his feet so they could finally leave the alley. Bob had lost feeling in his feet and fingers some time ago and could only imagine how cold Carlito must be sitting on the ground; a thin layer of ice building around him. His ass had to be completely numb by now.

Grey looked up at Brown's hand, then his eyes: seemingly searching for something there and finding it. "Yeah, here you are, insisting in offering a hand."

"So, what do we do now? You just tell me how do we get out of this the two of us?" Bob asked, looking around at the debris strewn alley that was quickly turning into an ice palace as the freezing rain had turned to sleet. "How do we move forward?"

"How we got out of it? What about yin and yang? The interdependence of opposites mutually rooted; mutually transforming each other; balancing each other?" Grey extended both his arms up towards Brown who took a firm grip on his wrists to help him up; catching him when he started to overbalance.

"I like it. You should get drunk more often." Bob said, a slightly amused note in his voice. "It's giving peace a chance then?" He asked as he began leading his unsteady teammate towards the parking lot and towards the warmth of home; at least as much of it as Carlito would allow him to offer.

"I'm always for peace, bro."

END OF THE STORY (Thanks so, so much, Zou!)


End file.
